Seven Soldiers of Victory: Gone But Not Forgotten
by Susan Hillwig
Summary: A DC2 collected story! Who were the Seven Soldiers of Victory? What happened to them 60 years ago? And what unholy threat from their past has resurfaced in the present to wreak havoc on those they left behind? Complete with bonus chapter!
1. Part 1

_Okay, confession time: this project wasn't started by me. Around the time I began writing for DC2, another writer by the name of Charlie Wilkins decided he wanted to do a story introducing the Seven Soldiers of Victory. It was going to be a large-scale affair (which is a hallmark of Charlie's writing) involving multiple versions of the SSoV over the years...but not necessarily the traditional members of the team. Since I'd already decided I wanted to use the original Vigilante in WWQ, I pestered him to include ol' Greg in the lineup so that I could keep that Soldiers link. He agreed, but as months went on, it became clear to Charlie that the story wasn't gelling the way he wanted, plus his workload in general was getting rather unwieldy. So one day, he sends me an email saying the project's dead, and that, hopefully, someone else down the line might decide to do a story with them for DC2._

_Well, wouldn't you know it, I'd become pretty fond of the original SSoV while researching Vig, so I picked up the baton and ran with it. Though I did make a few changes in the lineup, I tried to stick with as much of the old history as I could (the group's been retconned so many times, it's hard to keep up!), plus I decided to put out a Vigilante story in WWQ many months before I finished writing the main story as a sort of "warning shot". The one-off is included here as an interlude between parts 3 and 4, though it's not necessary to read it to understand the rest of the story...but it would be awful rude of you to come this far and skip it._

_One last thing: I'd intended this to simply be a miniseries, but another writer named Don Walsh has professed such a love for those Golden Age heroes (especially Crimson Avenger) that he'll soon be producing an ongoing SSoV series for DC2, picking up where I left off. Looks like old Soldiers never die, they just get passed on to different writers!_

_**Disclaimer:** All characters in this story are owned by DC Comics. Portions of this story are based on events described in Justice League of America #100._

_**Continuity:** Originally posted on the DC2 fanfiction site as Seven Soldiers of Victory #1-5 and Weird Western Quarterly #6. For a link, please click on the homepage listed under my profile._

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

**Part 1**

_**1941:**_

The brownstone looked no different from any of the others in New York City, which, Tom Hallaway supposed, is why they'd chosen to set up shop there. Who would suspect that such an ordinary building housed a gang of dope peddlers? _Just me, I guess,_ he thought as stood across the street from it, his dark costume helping him blend into the shadows of an alley. He'd been trying for months to track down the source of the drugs tainting his old neighborhood, but most of the trails led to dead ends, and it didn't help that the police in the area seemed blind to the problem. So he stepped up his methods, put the screws on a few lowlifes a bit tighter than before, and finally one of them gave up a name. A name that led him to this address.

And now here he was, getting ready to bust in the door and shut them down. He was glad that the neighborhood was quiet that night, he wouldn't have to worry about innocent bystanders if there was gunplay. Not that he was fond of the reason why it was so quiet: the Japs had bombed Pearl Harbor a scant three days ago, and everyone was in their houses with the lights turned low, clustered around their radios and hoping that no further attacks came. After years of standing on the sidelines, America was being dragged into Europe's war, and Hallaway didn't like it. He saw the whole thing as one more distraction from the problems at home, which made it doubly good that New York had a man like him to take care of those problems. _There's only so much one man can do, though,_ he thought, then pushed it away -- that was the sort of thinking that let the lowlifes flourish, and he certainly wasn't about to let that happen. "Enough stalling," he muttered, then took up his bow and nocked an arrow. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Reckon that's a fine idea," a voice behind him said, "only I ain't never been one for archery exhibitions." Hallway whirled around, expecting to see one of the criminals he was after, but instead he came face-to-face with...a cowboy? He blinked and shook his head, but the image remained: a man in a royal-blue shirt and white cowboy hat, with a red bandana tied over his face and sixguns drawn. "Now, y'all want to have a good ol'-fashioned shootin' match," the cowboy continued, "and I'll be there in a heartbeat."

"Who the Hell are you?" Hallaway asked, not lowering his bow.

"Name's Vigilante." He touched the brim of his hat with one of his gunbarrels, then used it to gesture towards the brownstone. "Seems you got some business with them fellas over yonder."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. You here to stop me?"

"Not hardly. I was hopin' to join you."

"Well, then, maybe we should make it a trio." A third man stepped forward, dressed in a red cloak draped over a dark three-piece suit, topped off with a mask and fedora. "How you been, Vig?" he said, nodding at the cowboy.

"Ain't complainin'. Yourself?"

"The same." The masked man turned to Hallaway, saying, "Sorry about that, we've known each other for a while." He then held out a hand. "Crimson Avenger."

"You can call me the Spider," Hallaway answered. He finally lowered his bow and shook Crimson's hand. "I've heard your name before...isn't this a bit small-time for a big hero like you?"

"You consider murdering a retired linguistics professor to be 'small-time'?"

Hallaway, alias the Spider, cocked an eyebrow. "I think you've got the wrong place. These guys are dopers."

"Funny," Vigilante mused, "I hear-tell that they've been blackmailin' city officials. Either we've all been fed a line, or these fellas are awful busy."

"Only one way to find out for sure," Crimson said as he looked across the street at the unassuming building, "and that's to go in there."

"I reckon that's what our new friend here was about to do." Vig waved one of his guns in a shooing gesture. "Lead the way, Spider Man."

"'Spider'. It's just 'the Spider'."

"What's the dif'rence?"

"'Spider Man' just sounds silly. You don't go around calling yourself 'Vigilante Man', do you?"

"Can we save this for _after_ we've captured the bad guys?" Crimson Avenger stepped past them and into the street, drawing his own guns as he did so. He'd seen no one at the windows, but he still expected some sort of opposition as he ran to the front door and threw himself at it shoulder-first. The lock snapped easily, taking some of the doorframe with it, and Crimson immediately pressed his back to the wall beside the door. He swept his guns across the room, but it was a pointless gesture: it didn't look like anyone had been in the building for years. He cursed under his breath and lowered his weapons, only to bring them back up when Spider and Vigilante ran in. "Forget it, there's nothing here," he told them.

Spider stared at the rundown, dusty interior. "That's impossible, I followed one of the dopers to this place. He walked through the door you just broke down no more than a half-hour ago."

"Maybe he knew you was followin' him, so he ducked in here and walked out the back to throw you off," Vig suggested.

"That doesn't explain the leads you and I got, though," Crimson said. "There must be more to this place than..." He stopped, looking down at the floorboards. "Step back a little, Vig."

"You got something, friend?"

"Yeah, something that a cowpoke like you should've thought of: when you're trailing a bandit, always check for tracks." He pointed down at a faint set of footprints, leading away from the door and to a room off to the left of the main hallway.

"Out of the way." Spider elbowed past the two of them, bow raised, and entered the room. It appeared to be a study, though long-abandoned, with cobwebs hanging from the bookshelves and a cold, dark fireplace on one wall. Oddly enough, the footprints led right up to the side of the fireplace and stopped, the dust in front of it looking like something had been dragged in a sweeping arc in front of it. "Hmph…how cliché can you get?" he muttered, and ran his fingers along the edges of the fireplace until he heard something click, and the entire fixture began to swing aside, revealing a set of stairs leading downward. He turned to his companions, who now stood directly behind him. "Well, this definitely isn't looking small-time anymore," Spider said.

Crimson glanced down the stairs. "It looks pretty narrow. We'll have to take this single-file…who wants to jump down the rabbit hole first?"

"I got it." Spider took the lead once again, all but racing down the steps and leaving the two gunmen behind.

Vigilante shook his head. "Fella's either got a lot of guts or no brains." He started down after him, saying to Crimson, "Let's catch up before he gets himself killed." Luckily, their new friend hadn't gotten far. The stairs ended inside a long tunnel leading off to the east (as best as they could figure underground), and Spider was still within sight, his shadow stretching out beneath the naked bulbs affixed to the tunnel's ceiling every fifteen feet or so. "Hey, slow down!" Vig called out, and ran up to the archer to close the distance. "We ain't got a clue what's down here, so until we do, we stick together, no chargin' in blindly."

"I didn't hear you objecting when he did the same thing upstairs," Spider said, nodding his head towards the Crimson Avenger.

"That's because I know him, and I know what he can handle. For all I know, this is your first night runnin' around in longjohns." Vig raised his eyebrows. "Please tell me it's not."

Spider frowned, looking as if he wasn't about to answer, then said quietly, "I've got six months in." He then added in his defense, "But I've taken down a lot of crooks in that time, so don't go thinking that I'm inexperienced."

"The thought never crossed my mind," Crimson said as he caught up with them, "but we all need to stick together, no matter how much time we've got in. Obviously, this is not what any of us expected to find." He looked down the tunnel. "I just wonder how far this thing goes."

"As you said before, there's only one way to find out." Spider began to head down the tunnel again, then stopped and looked back at the others, saying, "Unless somebody else wants to take the lead this time."

Crimson smiled and waved him ahead. "Be my guest." He and the Vigilante flanked the archer as they made their way down the tunnel, hoping to find some clue as to what dangers may lay ahead, but they found nothing but featureless concrete. After a while, the tunnel began to widen until it split into two more passageways, neither one giving a hint as to where they led.

"Well now," Vigilante said, tipping back his hat, "ain't this a fine predicament." He walked to the mouth of one passage, then the other, pausing to listen at each one, but he heard nothing. "Anybody got a coin we can flip?"

Spider stepped forward to take a look himself. "I think maybe it's time to break up this little party. Strength in numbers is all well and good, but…"

Vig suddenly held up a hand, then pointed down the right-hand passage. "Wait, I hear something," he whispered. The two other men came up beside him. After a moment, they each could hear the faint echo of voices. Crimson motioned to either side of the entrance, and they took position, the Spider and Crimson Avenger on one side, and the Vigilante on the other, all with weapons at the ready.

The voices came closer, growing more distinct. There seemed to be three people in their group as well, but the voice of one in particular took them by surprise. "That sounds like a kid," Spider mouthed to Crimson. The other man simply shrugged, focusing his attention more on the words than whom was speaking them:

"Looks like we might be reaching the end of this."

"Aye. We can only hope that the answers we seek lay ahead."

"Or at least a place to sit down. I don't think I can take this hiking much longer."

"C'mon, Kid, it's good for the leg muscles."

Moments later, the first of the figures stepped out of the tunnel: a burly, red-haired man in a striped shirt. He was immediately followed by a teenaged boy in a skintight blue costume covered in white stars. The man looked about and began to say, "Looks like we might have to split up," then caught a glimpse of the heroes out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around and shouted, "We've got company!"

"We was just thinkin' the same," Vigilante said, raising his guns, then stopped as a sword swung up from his right and pressed hard beneath his chin. He looked over to see the third newcomer standing at the mouth of the tunnel, clad in golden chain mail and a red tunic.

"'Twould be well-advised to put away thy weapons, knave," the knight said in a smooth English accent, "lest I have to be more firm with thee."

"Drop the pig-sticker, golden boy!" Spider raised his bow, but soon dropped his own weapon with a yelp as a bolt of energy zapped it from his hands. He looked in the direction the bolt had come from, and saw the boy in blue looking back at him, a smirk on his face and a wisp of bluish smoke coming off his fingers.

Crimson turned his pistols towards the redheaded man, saying, "So, what sort of tricks do _you_ have up your sleeve?"

"Just a really mean right hook." The man cracked his knuckles. "Wanna see?"

In reply, Crimson cocked back the hammers on his guns.

"Whoa, everybody simmer down now." Vig slowly dropped his own guns into their holsters, then held up his bare hands. "Something tells me these ain't the owlhoots we're lookin' for."

"I think he's right," Spider said, rubbing his sore hand. "These guys we're after seem like they want to be as inconspicuous as possible." He nodded towards the boy. "Hard to do that when you look like an astronomer's nightmare."

"Hey, I have no problem with giving you another jolt, mister."

"Easy, Kid." The man put a hand on the boy's shoulder, then turned to the knight. "You too, Sir Justin. I'd say these three are trustworthy."

The knight hesitated, then lowered his sword and took a step away from Vigilante. "My apologies," he said, bowing slightly. "Sir Justin, the Shining Knight, at thy service."

"And I'm the Vigilante, at…um, at thee's, I guess." He gestured to his companions. "This here's the Spider, and my fellow pistoleer's the Crimson Avenger."

The redheaded man stepped forward and shook hands with Crimson, who'd also holstered his guns. "You can call us the Star-Spangled Kid and Stripe…I'll let you figure out which is which," he said. "So, how did you guys end up in this maze?"

The three men each explained about the leads that had brought them to the abandoned brownstone, and the man called Stripe nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like what we ran into. The Kid and I had tracked some stolen military goods to a rundown warehouse when we spotted Shining Knight here flying by on his horse."

Vigilante looked at Sir Justin, eyes wide. "Y'all got a flyin' horse?"

"Winged Victory is the finest steed in the world," he said with a measure of pride.

"Hell, when all this is over, you've gotta show him to me."

"Anyways," Stripe continued, obviously annoyed, "turned out that he was looking for stolen goods as well, but these were artifacts from the Museum of Natural History. We joined up in searching the warehouse, and while we didn't find what we were looking for, we did find a hidden entrance to whatever the Hell this is supposed to be." He gestured to the tunnel around them. "There were some other branches, but they only led to empty shells of buildings and whatnot...sort of like that brownstone you described."

"None of this is adding up," Crimson muttered. "Thefts, drugs, blackmail, murder...five different criminal trails that have no obvious connection, but these tunnels say otherwise. I don't know what exactly we've all stumbled upon here, but it's getting bigger, and possibly more dangerous, by the minute."

"You're not suggesting we back out now?" Stripe waved a hand at the assembled group. "I'd say that the six of us can handle just about anything these crooks throw at us...assuming we ever find out where they're holed up."

"Well, we'll never find them if we keep standing around talking," Spider said, and pointed toward the remaining passageway. "Let's get moving, and save the questions for the first one of these bastards we find."

"I agree with the archer: now is the time for deeds, not words," Shining Knight said. "If I may be so bold, 'twould seem wisest if I lead the way -- should we chance across any gunmen, no bullet can pierce the mail I wear."

"Smart idea. Vig and I will flank you," Crimson replied, "with Stripe and Star-Spangled Kid behind us, and Spider can cover the rear."

"Hey, why am I getting shoved all the way to the back?" Spider said.

"'Tis common for archers to fire from the rear, so as to provide clear passage for the foot soldiers." The knight nodded to Crimson Avenger as they began their trek down the tunnel. "It pleases me to know that some people in this century remember proper battlefield formation."

He nodded back, thinking, _'This century'? Somebody's taking their gimmick a bit too seriously._ But he held his tongue as the group made their way further into unknown territory. As with the other branches, there were no markings to be found, no hint as to where they were going. When they did finally hit upon something different, it wasn't encouraging: the overhead lights, which had been hanging at regular intervals, suddenly stopped, leaving the passage before them in total darkness. "Great," Crimson said, "did anyone remember to bring a flashlight?"

"Don't need one." Star-Spangled Kid stepped forward into the darkness, one hand raised up and the other fiddling with something on the metallic red belt he wore. After a moment, a soft, steady glow began to emanate from his upraised hand, just enough to outline the surrounding walls...which they quickly noticed were no longer made of concrete. "Looks like granite," the Kid said, and cautiously reached out to touch the wall with his other hand. "Did they carve into the bedrock under the city?"

"They couldn't have," Stripe answered, "we didn't go down that far."

Spider took the tip of one of his arrows and stuck it into a crack, prying a chunk of stone loose. "It's thick, but it's only a facade. See? Just more concrete." He shook his head. "Why go to all this trouble to dress up an underground tunnel?"

"I believe I have found the answer," Shining Knight said. He was standing at the far end of the dark tunnel, the gold sheen of his armor barely visible. "This way, my friends...but extinguish thy light, squire, lest they take notice." The Kid did so, and as they all came forward to where Sir Justin stood, they realized that the tunnel curved to the right, and a faint light could be seen once they'd advanced around the corner. They also heard what sounded like a low hum.

"What is that? Machinery?" Stripe whispered.

Sir Justin shook his head, and put a finger to his lips before advancing, sword drawn. The others followed, single-file, until they saw the wall on their left drop away, replaced by thick granite pillars -- the light grew stronger as it poured through the spaces between them. Without a word, they all crouched down and crept up to the pillars, and found themselves looking down upon a large circular chamber lit by torches, and filled with nearly a hundred people in smoky gray hooded robes, all humming a single note. Many of them swayed in place, as if in a trance. The six heroes stared in disbelief -- this looked more like something out of a Saturday matinee serial than a crime ring -- then Spider tapped Crimson Avenger on the arm and pointed at one of the robed figures, whispering, "There...I can't see his face too well, but I think that's the guy I followed."

"So we've got the right place," he replied, "but what sort of place _is_ it?"

As if in answer to his query, a man stepped out of one of the archways ringing the room below. Like the others, his face was obscured by a hooded robe, but his garments were black, and his hands were covered by thick metal gauntlets. He stepped up onto a raised stone platform and stood before the throng for a moment, then raised his hands, and the hum came to abrupt end. "My disciples," he said, "our time has come. You have all worked very hard to bring our great plan to fruition, and finally, all the pieces have fallen into place. Starting tonight, the shadow of the Iron Hand shall sweep over this country, bringing with it the chaos our Master craves. Praise Neh Buh Lah!"

"_Praise Neh Buh Lah!"_ the crowd echoed, the force of their voices making the torches tremble.

"And once America has been crippled, and our numbers strengthened by those wise enough to convert, we shall move on to Europe, and our Master shall sup upon the feast of death and mayhem already laid out before him there. Praise Neh Buh Lah!"

"_Praise Neh Buh Lah!"_

"And then...and then, my disciples, the rest of the world will have no choice but to bow down and offer their riches up to us, the chosen few. We shall live like princes in this new world, for our Master will be grateful for the chaos we sowed in his name. Praise Neh Buh Lah! Praise him and live forever!"

The chant went up again, over and over, to the point where it was almost deafening. The heroes backed away from the pillars in an effort to escape the cacophony. Once they'd retreated far enough to hear each other again, Crimson Avenger said, "Gentlemen, we've got a problem."

"I'll say," Stripe replied. "All that military ordnance they took will go a long way towards 'bringing chaos', don'tcha think?" His young partner nodded assent.

"So will the drugs they were passing around in my neighborhood," Spider added. "Nothing like having hundreds of doped-up folks at your beck and call when you want to bring a city to its knees."

"Not to mention half of City Hall, thanks to all them folks they're blackmailin." Vigilante's brow furrowed. "But what's the deal with this 'nebula' stuff these jaspers are yellin'? Isn't a nebula like a star or something?"

"Actually, it's more like..." Crimson started to say, then held up a hand. "Hold that thought, I think the second act's about to start." The rest of them soon realized what he meant: the chanting had stopped. They scrambled back to the pillars just as the man began to speak once more, his gauntleted hands held out as if to bless the crowd.

"Before we can begin our great plan, however, we must bring our Master forward, so he may bask in the chaos while it is still ripe, and draw strength from it so that he may become whole." With that, seven new figures emerged from the archways below. Each one was dressed in black robes decorated with what appeared to be small white jewels -- whether actual diamonds or just paste, it was impossible to tell -- it made the newcomers look like they were wrapped in the night sky. They formed a line on the platform and faced the crowd. "Bless these disciples," the man in black continued, "chosen from among you to bear our Master into this world. Their flesh shall become his as they accept the ultimate glory and become part of Neh Buh Lah, The Seven As One!"

A new chant began, a strange guttural noise unlike any language the unseen heroes knew, and another figure appeared, carrying a tray upon which seven ornate daggers had been arranged -- he stepped up to the seven "chosen ones", who each took one of the daggers and held it over their heart. Shining Knight tensed, saying to his companions, "Those are the stolen artifacts I was seeking...and 'twould be a safe bet, my crimson friend, that thy professor may have been murdered for knowing too much about the words they utter now. Very dark magicks are in play below us, of that I am sure."

Star-Spangled Kid's eyes were wide behind his mask. "They don't really think killing themselves will summon up a demon or whatever this 'nebula' thing is, do they?"

"In my time, such things were a very common occurrence, though the modern world dismisses magic as mere chicanery," the knight replied. "I know not the name of this creature they speak of, but judging by what we have witnessed so far, it cannot be of a goodly nature. If we do not stop them now, we may never get another chance."

"Well then, let's quit talking about it and do something." Spider began to stand, taking aim at the presumed leader. Before he could let the first arrow fly, however, something else disrupted the ceremony: a spurt of flame came roaring out of one of the passageways below, scorching two of the participants. They howled and beat at their robes in an effort to extinguish the sudden blaze, but to no avail. More flames soon followed, along with the source of the conflagration: a masked auburn-haired young lady, clad in pink and red, flew into the chamber, leaving a fiery trail in her wake.

"There goes the element of surprise," Vigilante said, and uncoiled the lasso looped around his shoulder. "Let's get down there before that little firebrand takes away all our fun!" With that, he tossed one end of the rope around an overhang at the far side of the chamber, then jumped out into the open air with a whoop and a holler, knocking down a group of robed figures like bowling pins as he swung by. Shining Knight quickly followed, letting out a war cry of his own as he dove into the fray, sword held high. Star-Spangled Kid and Stripe simply nodded to each other before joining them, the older man landing on top of an unsuspecting worshipper, while his young partner simply tapped his belt and flew down with a nimbus of cosmic energy surrounding him.

Spider and Crimson Avenger looked at each other for a moment, then Hallaway smiled and waved towards the ensuing battle, saying, "Be my guest."

"Oh, so _now_ you don't want to be out in front." Crimson jumped down to join his companions, while the Spider stayed topside and picked off targets from his perch.

Though briefly stunned by the sudden appearance of the heroes, the man in black soon recovered himself and shouted, "Stop them, my disciples! Nothing can stay the might of the Iron Hand!" None of the robed figures appeared to be armed, save for the participants in the ritual, but that didn't deter them from following their leader's wishes, and the heroes soon found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer number of people willing to tear them apart. Gunshots rang out from Vig and Crimson, and the figures surrounding them dropped away. Shining Knight's sword never seemed to stop as he tried to cut his way across the chamber to where the man in black stood. Stripe merely barreled through them, knocking his opponents down with one haymaker after another.

In the air above them, the Star-Spangled Kid flew up beside the fiery newcomer, saying to her, "Where the heck did you come from?"

"I'll tell you later. Right now, we've got to try and keep these guys trapped in here. We'll never find them all if they manage to get into those corridors." Nodding in agreement, the Kid helped the young lady guard the passageways, he with bolts of energy and she with curtains of flame.

With a shout, Shining Knight broke free of the mass of robed figures and leapt onto the platform, knocking aside one of the knife-wielding disciples that ran at him. He advanced on their ebony-garbed leader, sword at the ready, and said, "Whatever foul plan thou had in mind is over, sirrah. Surrender now, and I shall show thee mercy...though I doubt thou art deserving of it."

A hoarse chuckle could be heard from beneath the black hood. "Surrender? The Iron Hand shall never surrender, especially not to the likes of you!" He suddenly reached out with his gauntleted hands, grabbing Sir Justin's shoulder in one and the sword in the other. The moment contact was made, a crackle of electricity emanated from the gauntlets, ripping through the knight's body until he collapsed. The man in black still held the sword, and he positioned the tip of the weapon in between the prone hero's shoulderblades. "And now, I will show you what I think of your 'mercy'!" he said, and made to drive the sword home, but he soon found himself engulfed in flames as the young woman swooped down, tears in her eyes.

"I won't let you kill anyone else!" she shouted at him as the flames grew higher. "Haven't you shed enough blood? Wasn't my brother enough?"

"Lady, quit it, you're gonna barbeque him!" Stripe jumped up on the platform and managed to grab her foot, yanking her down towards him -- it was enough of a distraction to make her stop, but he got his hand scorched for his trouble. That was nothing compared to her object of her anger: the man in black howled in pain, the fire eating away at his thick robes. He dropped the sword and ran for the passageway he'd originally entered through -- Spider loosed a volley of arrows in his direction, and Star-Spangled Kid tried to collapse the mouth of the passage with an energy bolt before he could reach it, but nothing slowed him down.

"We need to go after him before he gets outside," the young lady said, and tried to pull away from Stripe, but he held on fast.

"We'll get him, but you're staying here for now." Stripe turned towards Crimson Avenger and Vigilante, who were making their way to the platform -- opposition had begun to drop sharply once half of the worshippers had been knocked out or injured, and those remaining were more concerned with getting out alive now that their leader had fled. "I've got a take-out order for one french-fried bad guy, who wants to deliver it?"

"You'd better go, Vig, I'm almost out of ammo," Crimson said. The cowboy nodded and ran for the passageway, Star-Spangled Kid flying behind for backup. "Is he okay?" Crimson asked as he knelt beside the unmoving knight, turning him over -- the golden helm he wore had come off when he collapsed, and locks of blonde hair peeked out from beneath his chain mail hood. "Can you hear me, Sir Justin? Say something."

He groaned, then said, "Zounds...'twould be better to face a dozen Blunderbores than to feel that sting again..."

"I don't know what that means, but at least you're talking." Crimson helped Shining Knight sit up, then looked over at Stripe. "So, who's the girl?"

"M-my name's Danette...Danette Reilly," she said quietly, and removed her mask. "I'm sorry if I let myself get out of control, but after what he did to my brother Rod..."

"Reilly? Your brother's Rod Reilly, of Reilly Steel?" Stripe asked, and she nodded. "I've heard of the guy...of course, I also heard he committed suicide a couple days ago after declaring bankruptcy."

"It wasn't suicide, it was _him_! It was the Iron Hand!" Fresh tears started to flow as she said, "I'd been in Hawaii for the last few months, so I hadn't seen him for a while...if it hadn't been for my accident, and coming home to recuperate, I wouldn't have ever known..." Danette paused, twisting the mask in her hands. "Rod was always looking for excitement, for something to break up his mundane life, and I guess that's what the Iron Hand offered him: excitement. And all he had to give the Iron Hand in return was...everything. Every penny he had, every stock option in the company our father built...even his own life."

"It makes sense," Spider said as he came up to platform -- his quiver had run dry, and the chamber was clear of active troublemakers. "This hideout, the resources to make those drugs...you can only steal so much. Sooner or later, you have to get a steady source of income to finance something this big."

"I don't think Rod completely knew what was going on, but he knew enough to scare them," she said. "Maybe they thought he'd tell somebody where all the money went when the bankruptcy proceedings started, I don't know. Whatever the reason, they broke into the house while I was out and they...they shot him, tried to make it look like a suicide. By the time I got home, he was nearly dead...but Rod managed to hang on long enough to tell me about them. The police refused to believe a word of it, and I had to do something, so..."

"You did something, all right," Stripe said. "I don't know _how_ you did it, but..." He stopped when he saw Star-Spangled Kid and Vigilante emerge from the passageway. "Where's that 'Iron Hand' guy? Did you get him?"

"We chased after him as long as we could," the Kid answered, "but it's like a maze back there, with a bunch of twists and dead ends. All we found of him was this." He gestured to a bundle the cowboy was carrying, which he laid down on the platform: the charred remains of the Iron Hand's black robe, along with his metal gauntlets, wires running out of them to a small battery pack that supplied the electrical jolt the villain gave Shining Knight. "He must've ditched his stuff, then slipped out through a hidden door somewhere. I'm sorry, guys, but whoever the Iron Hand was, he's long gone now."

* * *

The sun was just starting to come up over New York City, but there was already a flurry of activity in the streets below. From an unassuming brownstone, police brought out dozens of the Iron Hand's men, many of them walking, others on stretchers. It would be days before they managed to comb through the entire complex beneath the city, and even then, the truth of what occurred down there might never be known. For an overworked police force, that mattered very little, but for the seven people who watched the scene from a nearby rooftop, the events of the past night weighed very heavily on their minds.

"Do you think they really could have done it?" Star-Spangled Kid asked. "Do you think they had a chance at overthrowing the city?"

Stripe shrugged. "They seemed zealous enough. At the very least, they probably would've hurt a lot of people before they could be put down."

"They already _did_ hurt a lot of people," Spider reminded them as he crouched on the edge of the roof. "What ticks me off is that they got away with it for so long...and now that we're getting into the damn war overseas, it's just gonna make things even easier for crazies like them."

"He's got a point," Crimson Avenger said. "I've already heard that the Justice Society's gearing up for the fight over there, which means there'll be less heroes to keep an eye on things over _here_."

"Then it shall be our duty to watch over this land 'til they return," Shining Knight said, to which they all turned to look at him. "The battle in Europe is of great import, but so is safeguarding the lives and property of those who remain behind. What value is there in winning this war if the victors have no home or loved ones to return to?"

Vigilante cocked an eyebrow. "What're you suggestin'? That the seven of us protect the whole damn country _by ourselves_?"

"Not merely us, of course: there shall still be the proper authorities," he answered, gesturing to the policemen below, "and I am sure the Justice Society shall not desert their posts completely. But there will be the unseen threats such as we faced tonight, and they will only grow in number now that all eyes are focused overseas. There is also the possibility that the Iron Hand may surface again, perhaps with renewed intent at bringing forth that 'nebula' creature."

Spider glanced over at Vigilante, saying under his breath, "Nebula Man." The cowboy's bandana hid his grin.

"Should that happen, we must be ready to stop him, as well as any others who may try and take advantage of these perilous times. Though I do not profess to know what this war may bring for each of us, there will surely come times when one of us needs to call upon others of our ilk...and I would be proud to stand by any of thee when that time comes." With that, Sir Justin drew his sword and held it out, the tip pointing downward. "When I first took up this sword, I swore an oath of fealty to my king and country, and though both have long passed from this realm, I still hold those words close to my heart, and live by them always. 'Twould be an honor to speak them with thee, to serve as a bond between us, and to our common cause."

A silence fell over those gathered, then Crimson Avenger stepped forward and laid his right hand over the pommel of Sir Justin's sword, simply saying, "I'm in."

"Count us in, too," Star-Spangled Kid said, both he and Stripe laying on a hand.

"How can I say 'no' to a fella with a flyin' horse?" Vig joked as he added his own hand to the pile, which was soon covered by Spider's. The cowboy then looked over to Danette, who had been standing quietly by herself the whole time. "What about you, little lady? You've got an even bigger stake in this than the rest of us."

"But I...I've only had these...these powers for a few weeks, I barely know what to do with them." She gestured vaguely to the costume she wore. "I only put this on in case someone recognized me, I'm no hero."

"Not so," Shining Knight replied. "When thy brother was struck down and no one would help, thou risked thy own life to bring his killers to justice. That, milady, is true heroism." He smiled at her. "And, if I may be so bold, 'twas my good fortune tonight that thou were there to save me in my own time of need."

Danette blushed slightly, then stepped over to join the others. Before she laid her hand down, however, she said, "I guess I'm gonna need a 'mystery man' name, huh?"

"I think Vig came up with a good one earlier tonight," Stripe said. "Firebrand."

"I like it...sounds good," she said, smiling, and put her hand atop the six others.

"I shall say the oath once alone," Shining Knight told them, "then all follow after me. And when thou speaks the words, speak them true, with thy heart and soul, for no oath should be entered into lightly." He then took a deep breath and began:

"_While tyrants breathe, and men conspire against their fellows, and greed stalks unleashed...this good right arm shall never falter, nor this good sword be sheathed."_

They repeated the words when Sir Justin finished, their voices blending together until they sounded as one, their eyes focused upon their joined right hands touching the sword. Once the ritual was complete, the knight looked up at all of them and said, "From this day forward, we shall serve as the Law's Legionnaires, always ready to answer the call of our brethren, no matter the hour, and always willing to march to wherever the battle may lay within our borders, no matter the danger...and woe be to the Iron Hand should he ever dare return, for we shall be waiting for him."

* * *

It would be nearly a month before they saw each other again, coming together once more to aid Star-Spangled Kid and Stripe, who had uncovered an Axis plot in the heart of Manhattan. Though the fight began in the relative seclusion of New York's subway system, it soon spilled out into the open, and the heroes found themselves under the scrutiny of the press while their foes were still being carted away by the police. No one in their group was interested in publicity, however, and they departed the scene after speaking minimally with reporters and putting up with a scant few flashbulbs popping in their faces. Perhaps it was this lack of information about themselves (along with the reds, whites, and blues dominant in most of their costumes) that inspired a field reporter for the _Daily Star_ to hand in the story he did, touting the group as "the truest patriots this country could ask for: seven steadfast soldiers who ask for nothing more than the chance to help America attain victory." And with that one offhand, propaganda-soaked line, the Law's Legionnaires soon earned a new name, one which would eclipse their original moniker:

The Seven Soldiers of Victory.

* * *

_**2008:**_

Once upon a time, the place had been called Leong's American. It wasn't anything particularly fancy by New York standards, but it was well-known with a certain sort of clientele, the sort that sometimes likes to go out and be "normal" every once in a while, but would rather avoid the average "civilian" hangouts just in case something should happen. The owner, Daniel Leong, first opened it in 1968, after years of managing other people's restaurants and making them lots of money. He'd had no intention of attracting the eclectic collection of folks that regularly attended his place, but considering that he was on friendly terms with many in that community, it was inevitable that they'd become his best customers. In fact, by the mid-seventies, the place had become so popular that he decided to branch out to other cities, choosing his locations from the suggestions made by the same people that made his business so successful to begin with. And when he did so, he changed the name of the original restaurant (along with all the ones that followed) to what most of his customers had called it since the day it opened: Stuff's.

Four decades and nearly twenty franchises later, the original New York location was still going strong. Any time you dropped by, you could expect to see it at least half-full, be it day or night -- even on Christmas, they operated with a skeleton crew for the benefit of those patrons who may be working themselves on that holiday. But on one particular day every year, Stuff's would close its doors to the public, admitting only a select few people for a special get-together. This year, the turnout was smaller than normal, with only eight of those invited attending, but it was still a stellar showing: Alan Scott, Dinah Lance, Al Pratt, Jay Garrick, Charles McNider, Jon Law, Speed Saunders, and Ted Grant...some of the best the Golden Age of Heroes had to offer, and Daniel Leong was proud to count them as friends.

They were gathered around a large banquet table, which had been laid out with the finest dishes to ever come out of the kitchen. The usual staff were not present today, however, Daniel himself having worked since six that morning to get things ready. Though his seventy-fifth birthday was creeping up on him, and his son kept pestering him about slowing down, Daniel Leong had no desire to -- he knew he wasn't the sort of guy that would be happy puttering around the house or playing golf or whatever it was that old geezers were supposed to do when they were "enjoying their golden years." He liked to get his hands dirty at the restaurant whenever he could, and there were nights when you could look into the kitchen and see the old man sweating over the grill, showing kids a third his age the proper way to do things. For now, though, the work was over, and Daniel had settled in at the head of the table, watching the members of the Justice Society as they talked about old friends long gone.

"So he shows up at Ted Knight's house with these blueprints tucked under his arm," Jay was telling the others in between bites of his steak, "and he just walks straight into the living room and sits down. No 'Hello' or 'How you been?' or anything, he just goes in there and starts laying the blueprints out on the coffee table. Now, I'd only known Pat and Sylvester for maybe two months by then, so I had no clue if he had a tendency to show up on Ted's doorstep unannounced or not...though judging by the look on Ted's face, I'd say not. So Ted finally works up the nerve to ask what the Hell Pat's doing here, and Pat looks up at us and says, 'The Kid's in the hospital, and I don't want it to happen again." So I say, 'How do you expect to pull that off?' And he just says, 'I've got an idea.'"

McNider chuckled. "How many times did I hear Pat say that over the years? 'I've got an idea.' He _always_ had an idea."

"Yeah, but they were always _good_ ideas. Not always feasible, but good." Everyone at the table laughed at that, and Jay continued, "And this one was good too: he'd taken the basic principle of Ted's cosmic rod and adapted it so that it would augment Sylvester's strength instead of just being a point-and-shoot sort of weapon. He only had a rough idea of how to do it, but he knew what he wanted. It was just a matter of smoothing out the bumps." He shook his head. "Pat was a technical genius. The things he came up with back then...can you imagine what he could've done with the tech we've got today? He'd be a millionaire on patents alone."

"And then I'd hustle him out of every last dime in one game of pool," Ted Grant added with a smile, which started another wave of laughter.

"Now you know if you even tried something like that, they would've all jumped you," Jon Law told him. "You messed with one, they all came running."

Speed Saunders took a sip of his drink, then said, "I remember Greg telling me once about these guys who got the drop on him. Gun-runners or something like that, I dunno, doesn't matter. They beat the holy Hell out of him, I mean just black-and-blue all over, and right when he thinks he's done for, in busts Danette and Justin. The two of them clean house, and when it's all over, Greg looks at them and says, 'What's this, I only rate _two_ Soldiers today?'"

Pratt got a wistful look on his face. "Did I ever tell you guys I had a crush on Danette for a while?"

"I think every guy in the All-Star Squadron had his eye on one of us girls at one time or another," Dinah said. "I know I caught more than one of you looking hard at me over the years."

"It was the fishnets," Grant said. "Personally, I knew better than to give Danette the big eye, what with Justin carrying that big honkin' sword all the time." He grinned at Pratt. "If he'd caught you, he would've given new meaning to the phrase 'splitting the atom'."

As the old heroes continued to reminisce, Alan Scott leaned over to Daniel, who was seated next to him. "Everything all right there, Dan? You been kind of quiet."

"Yeah, I'm just...I've been thinking a lot lately. About them."

"Well, that's not surprising, at least not today."

"No, it's not just the day." Daniel shook his head, saying, "It started a few months back, when you and the JSA had that fight over at the museum. I saw part of it on TV, and it just...it made me start thinking about them, and about...the other fight." The man swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. "You'd think by now it wouldn't bother me, but it does. After sixty years, I think about what happened and I still...I should have done something, Alan. If I had, they might still be here."

"There's nothing you could have done, Dan," he replied. "They made their decision, all of them. Nobody said this was an easy job."

"I know, but...why did _they_ have to die when all the rest of you got to live?" He looked at Alan, at the face that appeared so much younger than his own, even though Alan Scott, as well as everyone else at that table, was at least twenty years older than him. "Nearly every member of the Justice Society is still here, but not one of the Soldiers made it this far. _It's just not fair_." The tears started to come after that. Alan went to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Daniel shrugged it off. A terrible silence fell over the room, no one feeling it right to speak at that moment. Then Daniel removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, saying, "I'm sorry, I...I need some time alone. Just go on eating." He pushed away from the table and went into the back room of the restaurant.

Speed got up before anybody else had the chance. "Don't worry, I've got this," he said, and followed after him. He found Daniel in his office, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, the CD player on the nearby filing cabinet playing a country ballad. Speed stood there for a minute, head cocked, then said, "I don't remember this one."

"'Lonesome Prairie Wind'," Daniel told him without opening his eyes. "WGBS Variety Hour, March 14th, 1943...the first radio show I got to see him do." The song came to an end, and the silence was quickly filled with applause, nearly drowning out the voice of Greg Saunders as he thanked the crowd. "You ever miss him, Speed?"

"Of course I do. I miss him just as much as I miss Sheira...but I don't let it eat away at me, not like you do."

"That's because you weren't there like I was," Daniel said. Greg's voice drifted out of the player again as he started a new song. Daniel sighed, saying, "I think about quitting this whole deal sometimes, just letting the day pass without so much as a toast to their memory." He sat up in his chair and looked at the older man standing in the doorway -- like the others in the Justice Society, Speed Saunders was closing in on the century mark, but at least he looked his age. "But I can't quit, because if I do, then it'll be like their deaths never mattered at all."

"Now you know that's not true."

"Yeah...but that doesn't stop me from getting an ache in my heart whenever I consider it." He glanced at his watch, then stood up. "I suppose we should start wrapping this party up. My flight leaves in a couple hours, and the traffic..."

Speed held up a hand. "Don't worry about it. You go on out there, finish your meal, and I'll talk some of the guys into helping me clean the place up. It'll do these capes some good to wash a few dishes."

Daniel gave him a weak smile. "Thanks, Uncle Speed."

* * *

It was past sunset by the time Daniel left Philadelphia International Airport, thanks to all the security levels he had to navigate just to reach the rental car area. Despite the hassles, he still preferred to fly in rather than drive -- the New Jersey Turnpike could be a nightmare sometimes. Once he picked up the sedan reserved for him, it was off to the hotel to check in, then a trip at the florist to pick up his package, and then came the final stop on his itinerary. After sixty years, he had a good rhythm set up.

Christ Church Burial Ground stood at the corner of Arch and 5th Street in the heart of downtown Philadelphia. A historic landmark, direct access to the cemetery was limited to daylight hours, but there was nothing to prevent someone from approaching the locked iron gates at night, which was just what Daniel Leong did, a bouquet of seven white roses tucked in the crook of his arm. He knelt down in front of it, one hand clutching the ironwork for support, and placed the roses at the foot of the gates. He stayed down there for a minute with his eyes closed and head bowed, paying no mind to the cars passing by on the street behind him, then lifted his head and looked through the gate at the silent monuments beyond.

"Hi, guys," he said quietly, "it's me...sixty years and I haven't missed it yet. Don't know how much longer that'll last, but..." Daniel paused, his eyes briefly flicking away, then he continued, "Let's see, what's happened since last year...Pemberton's merger with Wayne Industries finally finished up. They're not closing anything, but it looks like they won't be keeping the Pemberton name up on any of the divisions...I'm sorry about that, Sylvester. This shouldn't affect the memorial scholarship they set up with Yale, though.

"The museum's got a new exhibit you'd love, Justin: the cultural history of Atlantis. They've got these artifacts on loan through the Atlantean Embassy...some of them would just take your breath away, they're gorgeous. I took Danny on the first day it opened...hard to believe he's going to be in high school soon, it seems like only yesterday his father..."

Another pause, longer than the last, as he leaned his head on the gate and started crying. "It's not fair...it's not...all these years you've been gone, and I...I've thought about telling them, but I can't bring myself to do it. Do you know what that's like, not being able to tell your family about this huge part of your life? Victor...Victor thinks I'm on a _business trip_ right now! Every year, I lie to him, I lie _to my son_, just so I won't have to explain..." Daniel sat up straight, wiping tears away. "Maybe I'll tell him this year. When I get home, I'll sit him down, and I'll tell him. Sounds so damn simple, doesn't it?" he said, and gazed out over the cemetery once again. "You'd think that after all the things I've seen, I wouldn't be such a chickensh..."

The words suddenly died in his mouth as his eyes fixed on something at the far end of the cemetery. It appeared to be nothing at first, just another shadow cast by one of the markers, but as he watched, the shadow appeared to bubble slightly, then the bubbles became larger, more angular. A shadow on the side of a tombstone began to do the same thing, then one barely twenty feet from the gates started to bubble as well. Daniel was frozen, unable to even remove his hand from the gate, as he watched the one closest to him heave up something that looked like a clawed hand. It was black, blacker than the shadow that birthed it, the skin looking more like oil than flesh. The hand dug into the earth for purchase, pulling its misshapen bulk of a body out of the shadow with a ripping sound. Then it lay there, still bubbling as other limbs unfurled from the child-sized body: another arm, a leg...and a head with eyes as bright as stars, and a mouth full of razors.

"Oh dear God," Daniel choked, "this isn't happening." He tried to get up, tried to let go of the iron gate, but his brain was in too much shock to relay the orders, even as the creature took notice of him and tried to get to its own feet. Its pitch-black body was still in a strange state of flux, however, and one leg was much shorter from the other. That didn't stop it from staggering towards Daniel, gnashing its teeth and growling in an unearthly, guttural voice. Behind it, six other creatures were rising up, and all of them had their shining white eyes fixed on the old Chinese man at the gate. "This isn't...you're gone, they killed you," Daniel said, his voice rising in panic. "_They killed you! You're just as dead as them!"_

The lead creature lunged forward, slamming against the iron gate just as Daniel managed to get to his feet. He wheeled about, trying to avoid the slashing claws as it reached through the bars for him. It grabbed onto his overcoat, but Daniel ripped free, causing him to stumble into the street as a car passed by the cemetery. He tried to dodge, but to no avail: brakes locked, tires squealed, and Daniel flipped over the hood and crashed into the windshield, sliding off and hitting the pavement once the vehicle fully stopped. Other vehicles stopped as well, and Daniel could hear people shouting, calling for help, but he couldn't respond, he could only lay there, staring up at the night sky through the shattered lenses of his glasses.

As a crowd gathered around the broken body of Daniel Leong, no one noticed seven small, humanlike figures slip over the walls of Christ Church Burial Ground, vanishing into the shadows like a bad dream.


	2. Part 2

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

**Part 2**

_**2008:**_

On any other night, the Liberty Bar in downtown Philadelphia would be filled with the sounds of life: glasses clinking, patrons laughing or arguing, the television over the bar tuned to the local sporting events. And up until a half-hour ago, that was exactly the scene to be found inside the windowless establishment...but then the Seven crept into the bar's shadowy interior and began to feed. They were silent at first, pulling solitary drunks into the shadow-realm where the Seven lurked unseen, but soon their bloodlust whipped them into a frenzy, and they couldn't contain themselves any longer. Their victims tried to escape, of course, but it was no use, and soon all the patrons found themselves part of the ongoing sacrifice to the greater glory of Neh Buh Lah.

In the midst of their feeding, the Seven began to change, their small forms bulging and growing even as they still crunched bones and rendered flesh with their needlelike teeth. Though it appeared painful, they welcomed the changes wrought upon them, and shrieked with delight as the first of their brood stood up before them, having completed its transformation from impish grotesque to adult-sized horror, its inky-black skin mottled with strange white marks, each glowing with the same fire that illuminated its eyes. The marks were few in number at the moment, but soon they would multiply, spreading across its body as the Time of Rejoining grew closer. The same marks were appearing on its brethren, but they were not ready yet. Such was the way it always worked, with the most important aspects of Neh Buh Lah evolving the quickest.

Individually, the seven creatures had no names, but if designations had to be given, then the one that currently stood before the others would be The Mind: it housed Neh Buh Lah's cunning, its desire to devour everything in its path, and most important of all, it shared an unbreakable psychic link with all the separate pieces of itself. The Mind was what struggled to pull its shattered form together over the past sixty years, scouring the shadow-realm for every last shred of itself until it gained enough cohesion to rend itself free, albeit in its current weakened state. But that wouldn't last for long, thankfully, not with all these lovely morsels wandering about, just waiting to be consumed. Not to mention that, for the first time in millennia, their usual opposition upon this plane had ceased to exist. The creature let out a noise that might be called a laugh as it remembered how those seven pitiful warriors had wiped themselves out utterly in their attempt to stop Neh Buh Lah all those years ago. Now no one would be there to stand in the way as...

Wait. The creature cocked its head, staring at the brightly-glowing box above the bar. They had paid it no mind during their feast -- it was not a living thing, and therefore of no consequence -- but now, as The Mind waited for the others to finish, the chattering monkey-voice coming from the television said something that caught its attention:

"_All seven founding members of the Justice League were on hand today at the United Nations to accept a commendation from the General Assembly, in recognition of their mission of worldwide peace and safety."_ Though the television screen was partly obscured by a splash of gore, the image of seven costumed humans (one of whom could only be loosely termed "human") came through loud and clear. One of them, a large, dark-haired male clad in blue and red, stepped forward to shake hands with a much smaller human in a business suit as the voiceover continued, _"Though their ranks have more than doubled since their inception two years ago, these seven heroes are still very much the face of the League, and the newer members will be hard-pressed to carve their own niches alongside the likes of Superman, Wonder Woman, and the others."_

The creature jumped up onto the bar and pressed its face close to the screen, studying the faces of the humans. Seven warriors, banded together just as Neh Buh Lah began to reassert itself...it should have suspected something like this would happen. Turning towards its brothers, it spoke to them in their shared guttural tongue, telling them of the threat that almost escaped their attention. They shrieked in response, one of the creatures going so far as to throw a nearby chair at the television and smashing the screen before The Mind reached out and calmed them. Yes, there was opposition, it told them, but there always was. This time, however, things would be different: they would wipe out their opposition before the Time of Rejoining, eliminating the threat before it had a chance to do the same to them...but first, they had to find their enemies.

The Mind pointed a misshapen claw at one of its brethren and bade it to come forward. Like the others, this one housed a certain aspect of Neh Buh Lah. In this case, the most apt name would have been The Eyes: it had the ability to watch the world through the shadow-realm, and observe events hundreds of miles away with ease. Though it had not regenerated enough to take full advantage of this power, it was possible to give it a temporary boost until it could sustain itself, which was exactly what The Mind did now, sinking its claws into its weaker brother's head until both creatures' marks shone with the same eerie white light. Together, they scoured the entire night-shrouded half of the Earth, searching for a clue as to where these seven warriors lay.

After only a few minutes, the two creatures shrieked with delight: while they had not found their enemies in the flesh, they had stumbled upon a shrine of some sort, filled with graven images of their new enemies. These "heroes" demanded worship from those they protected, apparently...worship that should rightly be directed at Neh Buh Lah. The decision was made, then: they would travel to this shrine and raze it, showing these seven warriors who the true gods were. And when their enemies arrived to see what they'd wrought, the Seven would descend upon them and destroy them utterly.

Once they finished their feast, the seven creatures crept out into the night again, slipping back into the shadow-realm so that they could travel undetected, and with greater speed, to their destination.

* * *

"Anything of note to report?"

"Not a thing. It's been a quiet night." Katar Hol, former Hawk-Knight of Thanagar, now Hawkman of the Justice League, approached the transporter pad as Batman stepped down. "How about on your end?"

"The usual: breakout at Arkham -- Mad Hatter this time -- leading to a hostage situation, followed by a laundry list of threats and demands, and ending with me using the Hatter's own mania against him," Batman said. "That's about as close as Gotham gets to a 'quiet night'."

Katar cocked an eyebrow. "Are you still needed back there, then? I can cover the first few hours of your monitor shift until things are wrapped up."

The Dark Knight shook his head, saying, "Already taken care of it. Nightwing's keeping an eye on the ground for me, and I can tune in some of the Gotham police bands specifically. That should keep things covered until dawn breaks in a couple hours."

The two heroes headed down the hall to the Justice League's monitor room, where a bank of computers constantly swept the world's satellite feeds and news channels, then cycled the information onto a wall of screens so that whomever was sitting on monitor duty could watch for any problems that might require the League's assistance. Katar's hawk-shaped mask was hanging off the back of the chair, and he picked it up after he'd keyed his security code into the computer, officially putting an end to his night shift. Batman then sat himself down in the vacated chair and began typing in his own code. Out of habit, he glanced up at the security monitors that kept an eye on the League's HQ, both inside and out. Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first, but there was something on one of the monitors that kept drawing his attention that particular screen. "Did you turn down the security lights?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" Katar looked at the screen Batman was indicating. Sure enough, many of the low-level lights lining the Hall of Justice's main foyer appeared to have gone out. "Strange...I don't recall it being like that before."

Batman switched the view to one of the larger screens, then began cycling through all the surveillance cameras. "The rest of the building seems fine. Perhaps a circuit burned out somewhere," he started to say, then paused as an alternate view of the foyer came up: it appeared that some of the display cases had been smashed open, the broken glass scattered across the floor reflecting what little light there was.

"I _definitely_ didn't see that before," Katar said, and began to put his mask back on. "How did someone get in here without tripping the alarms?"

"Good question...let's go ask." They left the monitor room and made a beeline for the main foyer, sometimes referred to as "the trophy room" by civilian visitors. It was the only area in the entire Hall of Justice accessible to the public, and had been set up as a way for the average citizen to learn about the history of the Justice League and their activities -- after the incident with the U.S. government last year, public relations had become a bit of a concern, and this was one of their solutions. Photographs of members past and present lined the walls, and scale models of some of their foes and weaponry (all nonworking replicas, of course) were on display. Visiting hours ended when the night shift began, and the time locks wouldn't open the public-access doors for another four hours, so whomever had busted the cases open was certainly not the average sightseer.

Moving in near-silence, they entered the room, Batman switching on the night-vision in his cowl to make up for the lack of light -- Katar needed no such assistance, as the Nth metal he bore enhanced all his senses, including sight. What they both saw gave them pause: nearly all the glass cases had been shattered, along with the models contained within, and deep gouges scarred the walls, but there was no sign of any intruders. The two heroes glanced at each other, then Batman jerked his head up slightly. Katar nodded and silently took to the air, taking advantage of the room's high ceiling to get a better view of the situation. Meanwhile, Batman put his back to a nearby wall and switched his night-vision over to a heat-sensitive variety, hoping to pick up on the intruder's footprints, if not the person in question, but nothing of the sort came into view, not even by the smashed displays. _This can't be right_, Batman thought, and flicked his eyes up to where Katar hovered -- the Thanagarian's body radiated waves of red and yellow, his wings outlined in cool blue. _Equipment's not malfunctioning, so where..._

Suddenly, he saw a clawed hand out of the corner of his eye. He whirled on it, reaching for a batarang, only for another hand to grab him by his cape and yank him towards the wall. _How did they slip in behind me?_ he thought, then realized that the hands were reaching out of the wall itself! He slapped his own hand on the clasp that held his cape in place and fell to the ground, then threw a couple batarangs at whatever had tried to grab him. To his dismay, he heard his weapons thunk against the steel wall harmlessly. All the while, the clawed hands continued to pull his cape into the shadows covering the wall, followed by a horrid shriek when they saw their prey had escaped.

As the Dark Knight got his feet, Katar swooped down, saying, "What happened? It looked like..." The rest of the sentence died in his mouth as seven human-sized creatures began to crawl out of the shadows before them, patterns as bright as stars swirling over their jet-black bodies. "Seven Devils..." the man from Thanagar breathed without the least hint of irony.

"Airborne, now!" Batman grabbed hold of Katar's arm as the Hawkman spread his wings and shot straight up. Unfortunately, one of the creatures leapt forward and managed to sink its claws into Batman's boot before they could get out of reach. He tried to kick it loose, but it wasn't discouraged in the least, and began to tear through his Kevlar-lined suit like it was tissue paper. Blood ran down his leg, dripping onto the creature's upturned face, which it licked away with its long pointed tongue, grinning all the while. "I've got something better for you," Batman growled, and pulled a small flash-bang grenade out of a pouch on his belt and showed it into the creature's mouth. While the force of it exploding wasn't enough to kill, it at least made the creature let go and fall to the floor.

"I don't see the others anymore," Katar said as they watched the creature melt into the shadows below. "What in the world are those..." He stopped when he caught sight of movement overhead -- somehow, the creatures had reached the ceiling, and were now attempting to drop on them from above! "Hold on!" Katar tightened his grip on Batman as he tried to bank out of the way, but it was no use: three of the things slammed onto his back and knocked them out of the air. As soon as they hit the ground, Batman scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked down again as all seven of the monsters jumped him, biting and tearing and gibbering in some unknown language. "Get away from him!" Katar bellowed, and swung his mace at the creatures, sending them flying across the room. Each one took only a moment to shake off the attack before jumping into the fray again, but to Katar's surprise, none of them attacked him personally -- they all seemed obsessed with ripping Batman to shreds. "This is no good," Katar told him after he'd cleared the creatures away once more. "Like it or not, we need to fall back."

Batman nodded reluctantly, then said, "Cover your eyes." He pulled out a handful of flash-bangs and scattered them across the room. Harsh white light engulfed them from all sides, causing the creatures to shriek and fall to the floor, flinging their arms over their heads in an effort to block out the glare. "It's the shadows," the Dark Knight explained as Katar helped him back down the hallway they'd originally come from. "I don't know how, but it looks like they can move through the shadows themselves, like a dimensional door...that's why the alarms never went off."

"That seems to fit with what we've seen, but why attack us? Or more specifically, why _you_? They barely noticed me."

"Maybe its the Nth metal...I don't know."

Katar didn't like this: rare was the time when Batman admitted to not knowing _something_ about a situation, and here he'd just uttered those words twice. "We should get you to the infirmary. Those things dealt you quite a bit of damage."

"Not yet...we need to flood the whole building with light first, try and cut them off from the other areas." He paused for a moment at a control panel built into one of the walls and began punching buttons. A whine of motors reverberated down the passageway as heavy security doors slid into place, sealing off the foyer from the rest of the Hall of Justice as an added precaution. "If we can keep them confined in there, it'll give us time to come up with a strategy."

"We should call in some of the others," Katar suggested.

"There's seven of them and two of us...I've fought against worse odds."

"Batman...Bruce...those things, whatever they are, obviously want to _kill _you. I don't think anyone would fault you for calling in reinforcements."

The Dark Knight's hand hovered over the control panel as he mulled it over, then he quickly punched in a code -- a red light began blinking on the panel in time with a pulsing hum from the audio system. "General alert signal," he explained. "It'll be broadcast over all members' comlinks. Now, as I was saying..."

He never finished his sentence: in the blink of an eye, all the lights in the passageway went out, along with the sound of the alert signal. "This is impossible," Batman said, and slammed a hand against the control panel, which had gone just as black and dead as the rest of the building. "There's no way in Hell they could've cut off the power! There's absolutely no way!"

Then they heard a growling in the dark. Batman reached for more flash-bangs, only to find one of the creatures kneeling right beside him, its teeth sinking into his wrist before he could even touch his utility belt. Gritting his own teeth, he pulled out a batarang with his other hand and began to stab at the creature with its razor-sharp tip until the thing let go. Two more soon took its place, one of them tearing at the night-vision lenses in his cowl while the other ripped off his belt, ensuring that he could produce no more tricks. He still held onto the batarang, though, and slashed at the creatures blindly as they tried to drag him down. From somewhere in the darkness, Batman could hear Katar yelling, followed by the thud of his mace, and he wondered how long the Thanagarian could keep up the assault before the creatures overwhelmed him too.

Suddenly, a shaft of emerald-green light shot out of the darkness, knocking one of the creatures for a loop back down the passageway. More quickly followed, zeroing in on the remaining creatures until they had all been cleared away. A green barrier then blocked off the passageway, sealing the creatures on the other side, and a globe of bright green energy appeared near the ceiling, illuminating the forms of Superman and Green Lantern hovering the air above Batman and Katar. "See, this is what happens when you go on the reserve roster," Hal quipped to his companion. "You miss all the good parties."

"This looks like anything but that," Superman replied, and came to rest next to Batman, who was leaning heavily against the wall, his cowl half-ripped away and blood dribbling from a gash on his forehead. Superman took in the sight and said, "My God, Bruce, what's going on?"

Batman shrugged off the Man of Steel's concern and said to Hal, "Tap into the building's power system, and fast! We need this place lit up like the Fourth of July."

"You want it, you got it." The globe flattened and merged with the ceiling as the near-limitless energy contained in Green Lantern's ring laced its way through the building, sparking up the light panels as it went. "Damn...looks like the generators overloaded," he said, the ring providing him a small schematic of the power system. "Lights aren't too big a deal to emulate, but if you want the teleporters or any of the computers back online, I'll need to access them directly." He nodded towards the creatures, who were clawing at the barrier. "Did those things do this?"

"Apparently," Katar said, "though we're not sure why they're even here. They trashed the main foyer, then proceeded to do the same to Batman. We tried to send out a distress signal, but..." He gestured to the burned out control panel.

"You got it out for about two seconds," Superman told him, "just long enough for his ring and my super-hearing to pick it up. I doubt the regular League comlinks even registered so much as a single beep."

"By the way," Hal added, "since we couldn't get the doors open, there's a big hole where the south entrance used to be...sorry."

"That's the least of our worries." Batman had picked up his utility belt and buckled it back into place as he watched the creatures. "We need to get these things down to the holding cells, figure out just what they are and...." He stopped talking and began to take a few steps back. "Lantern, increase the power to that barrier!"

"What for, everything's..." Hal then saw what the Dark Knight was referring to: one of the creatures had laid its clawed hands flat against it, while the others seemed to sink their own claws into the lead creature's back. Soon, all seven of them gave off an eerie, purplish-white glow from the marks on their bodies, which quickly began to emanate across the barrier itself, causing it to crack. The Green Lantern leveled his ring directly at the barrier, trying to thicken it, but it was no use: the barrier shattered and dissipated, letting the creatures free once more. "Everybody behind me!" Hal shouted as he shot off a volley of energy blasts, but the creatures dodged them all with ease.

"Here we go again," Katar said, and brought his mace to bear. Just as before, the creatures homed in on Batman and virtually ignored Hawkman, but this time they also went after Green Lantern and Superman, tearing at the two newcomers with the same zeal for destruction that they'd given the Dark Knight.

Though he was loath to do it, Superman turned his heat vision directly on them, which kept them at bay until one of them got behind him and jumped on his back and began clawing at his eyes. He grabbed it and threw it against the wall, where it quickly rebounded and ran after Lantern instead, who was trying to keep one of the monsters from biting the power ring right off his finger. Superman could feel something dripping down his face, and when he reached up, he felt the bloody gouge the creature had carved into his cheek. Put together with everything else they'd seen, it added up to a dangerous conclusion. "They're magic!" he called out to Batman.

"Perfect," Batman growled back, and continued to hack at the creatures that were dragging him to the floor. Magic wasn't something he liked dealing with: it was too unpredictable, it didn't follow any natural rules of the universe...and worst of all, it meant that the four of them probably weren't going to be able to put these things down for good. Best they could do was escape the Hall of Justice and try to contact one their magically-endowed members. He was about to order Superman to do just that when the passageway was flooded with a brilliant golden light, bright enough to make the creatures stop their attack and throw themselves to the floor, screaming in pain. The four heroes squeezed their own eyes shut against the brilliance, which seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Then from out of the light came a voice, booming with authority but speaking in the same sort of guttural tones that the creatures used. One of them answered in kind, while the other things shrieked like a perverse Greek chorus. Superman made his way over to where Green Lantern stood and asked, "Can your ring translate any of this?"

"Not a word," Hal replied. "Whatever language they're talking in, it's either too old or too obscure...and that doesn't exactly comfort me." He willed his ring to darken the green aura about himself in an effort to block out some of the golden light -- through the glow, he could make out a vague human figure wearing a cape and a bell-shaped helmet, his hands raised in a gesture of placation as he hovered above them. The seven creatures alternately cowered and made threatening moves towards the figure, then as if by some unseen signal, they leapt as one towards him, striking furious blows until the figure collapsed to the floor, the glow soon fading afterward. The crippling light now gone, the creatures ran down the passageway in the direction Superman and Green Lantern had originally come from. "They're gonna get away!" Hal said, and began to give chase, only to be hit in the back by a powerful blast and knocked out of the air himself. He cursed and looked behind him to see the figure now standing with a hand reaching out in his direction. "I don't know who you are," the Green Lantern said to the blue-and-gold clad man, "but you'd better have a damn good reason for doing that."

**I would hope, Harold Jordan, that saving your life is a good enough reason,** the mystic known as Doctor Fate replied. **You must believe me when I say that neither you nor anyone else on Earth has any chance of stopping them...and that anyone who attempts to do so will surely die.**

* * *

"Thanks again for coming along, guys," Speed Saunders said as he and his friends stepped into the waiting hospital elevator. "If Daniel's in as bad of shape as it sounds, he's gonna need all the support he can get."

"No thanks needed. Besides, it would've taken you hours to get here, otherwise," Jay Garrick said as he adjusted his distinctive silver hat tucked beneath his jacket. Both he and Alan Scott had changed into their working clothes before leaving New York, each of them making use of their abilities to give Speed and Ted Grant a quick lift to Philadelphia. Once they reached the hospital, however, they switched back to civvies so as to not call undue attention to themselves. "Just be glad his son called you before we'd all left the restaurant."

"I'm just glad I got out of washing all those dishes," Ted added.

Jay looked across the elevator at him and said, "Hey, you volunteered to help."

"That was merely a formality...I figured a speedster like you would be finished with them before I had a chance to roll up my sleeves."

Alan ignored their bickering and asked Speed, "Did Victor happen to say how Daniel got hurt?"

"According to the police report, he ran out into traffic and threw himself in front of a car." The three heroes stared at Speed, who said, "Yeah, I don't believe it either. I know he was in a mood when he left tonight, but I certainly wouldn't say he was suicidal...and if he was, there's a helluva lot better ways to do it than that."

"Was it by the cemetery?"

"Victor didn't say. He wouldn't know about that anyways, remember?"

Ted frowned. "You mean the kid _still_ hasn't told him?"

"Nope...and you're not gonna tell him either." The elevator doors opened on the intensive-care ward and the four men stepped out, with Speed saying, "Daniel made the decision a long time ago to keep that part of his life away from his family. As far as they know, this party he throws every year is actually hosted by _me_, and you're all just a bunch of old Army buddies." He shook his head. "Now that this has happened, though, I'm not sure how well that cover's gonna stand up."

As they turned a corner, they could see Victor Leong talking to one of the nurses on duty. He looked haggard, which wasn't surprising: after receiving a phone call from the Philadelphia PD, he'd jumped in his car and driven for hours to reach the hospital. It wasn't until he was on route that Victor even thought to call Speed on his cell phone to let him know about the accident. When he caught sight of them, Victor excused himself and went over to his "uncle", saying, "My God, I didn't expect you to get here so fast. I only just arrived myself."

"Well, my friends here were already giving me a lift to the airport," Speed fibbed. "I was going to catch the red-eye back to St. Roch, but once I got your call, I switched flights."

"That worked out pretty good, then." He shook hands with the other men and said, "I'm Victor Leong, Daniel's son. Nice of you to come along for moral support."

"No problem at all, Victor," Alan said. "How's your father doing?"

"The nurse said they just brought him up from surgery. I haven't been in to see him yet, but she said he's probably pretty groggy." Victor paused, looking hard at Alan. "It's funny, but...have we met before?" The four men shared a mutual glance, but before any of them could come up with a good cover, the younger man blurted out, "Oh my God, you're Senator Scott! I caught an interview with you on the news channel a few weeks back!" He shook Alan's hand again, more vigorously this time. "I had no idea Uncle Speed knew you."

The old heroes inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and Speed said, "Well, you know, I don't like to brag, but we've been friends for a long time...all the way back to the War. Right, guys?"

"Yeah, right, the War," Jay replied.

"How could I forget?" Ted added with a roll of the eyes.

"Hard to believe it, by the look of you three," Victor said. "If you'd asked me, I would have said you guys weren't even _born_ during World War II."

Speed waved a dismissive hand at his friends. "That's what clean living will get you. Never believed in it myself." He then put a hand on Victor's arm and said, "Come on, let's go check on your dad."

The lights in the room were off, the only illumination coming from the monitoring equipment running by the bed and the faint glow of streetlamps outside the window. Daniel lay very still in the darkness, drowsing in a haze of anesthetic -- he'd come away from the accident fairly well, with a broken collarbone, a fractured leg, and a smattering of cuts and bruises. Due to his age, however, there was a concern about how well those injuries would heal, and he'd very likely spend the next few days in this room. Victor walked up to the bed and leaned over him, inspecting the battered face of his father. "Dad? Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

Daniel began to stir at that, his eyelids fluttering before opening halfway, though it did him little good: his glasses had been smashed in the accident, so the world beyond the bed was a blur. "Vic...Victor? Where..."

"You're in the hospital, Dad. You got hit by a car. Do you remember that?"

He didn't respond right away. Instead, his eyes slipped closed again, and everyone assumed that the anesthetic still had a good hold on him. Then Daniel snapped to full wakefulness as panic overtook him. "He's back...he came back...he's out there _right now_," he gasped, his hands clutching at the bed sheets.

"Who's out there?" Victor asked. "What happened, did somebody attack you?"

"You have to call Speed, right away," Daniel said, as if he hadn't even heard his son. "Go now...call him...tell him he's back..."

Speed stepped up beside Victor, saying, "I'm already here, Daniel. What's going on?"

"I _saw_ him, he's _alive_." Daniel tried to reach up and pull the man closer, but the pain from his busted collarbone prevented him from doing so. "I was at the cemetery and _I saw him..._"

Speed felt his shoulders sag. It appeared that his earlier assessment about Daniel's state of mind had been wrong after all. "I don't know how to tell you this, kid, but...you're wrong," he said quietly. "Greg's dead, he's not coming back, no matter..."

"I'm not talking about Greg, dammit!" His voice was strained, more from frustration than pain. "I'm talking about the Nebula Man! I saw him...or at least those little gremlins he's made out of...I saw him in the cemetery. He tried to grab me, but I got away, I..." He looked beyond Speed, squinting, then said, "Who's there? Did you bring the others?"

"A few," he said reluctantly.

"You already knew, didn't you? You've come to finally finish that thing off."

Speed glanced back at his friends and saw the same look of worry that he felt on his own face. Question was, were they worried about Daniel's mental state, or that what he said may be true?

Daniel himself caught sight of the look. "You...you don't believe me, do you? You think I've gone crazy or something," he said, and tried to sit up. "Don't you think I know what that _thing_ looks like? He killed Greg, he killed my friends..._your_ friends...they died trying to stop it. All this time, we thought they'd succeeded, but we were wrong...and now..." He sank back onto the hospital bed after that, feelings of defeat weighing him down. "They all died for nothing," he said after a while.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Victor looked from his father to Speed and the others with wide eyes, saying, "Is someone trying to kill my dad?"

The older heroes said nothing, waiting to take their cue from Speed, who merely turned to Victor and said, "I don't think there's anything to worry about right now...but later on, when your dad's rested up, we can talk about this." He then looked at Daniel, saying, "You hear me, Stuff? You just sit tight for now, while me and the boys go take care of things." Speed stepped away from the bed and conferred with his friends in low tones for a moment, then they began to file out of the room, leaving a stunned Victor alone with his father.

"What's going on, Dad?" Victor leaned against the bed's side rails, trying to keep his voice calm, but inside, fear and confusion were tearing him apart. Knowing his father had been badly injured was traumatic enough, but all this strange talk about cemeteries and people dying had him worked up even more. "Who were those guys with Uncle Speed? Do you know them?"

Daniel's head was turned away from him, facing the dark corners of the room. Without looking back at his son, he said, "They used to...work with some friends of mine. It was a long time ago." He closed his eyes, memories of days gone by flitting through his mind. "A very long time ago."

* * *

_**1943:**_

"How you doin' back there, kid?"

"I'm okay!" Daniel had to shout to hear himself above the roar of the engine as they raced along the Boston waterfront. He didn't want to admit it, but riding on the back of Greg's motorcycle like that scared him -- he knew that if he lost his grip, he'd go flying right off the seat and maybe crack his head open upon landing. So he wrapped his arms around Greg's middle with as much strength as his ten-year-old body could muster and tried not to think of such things. "Are we almost there?"

Greg glanced up at the numbers painted on the warehouses lining the docks. "Number 14 should be right around the corner...better ease on up, don't want to spook 'em." He slowed the motorcycle to a stop, then twisted around to look at the boy seated behind him. "You nervous?"

"No...maybe a little." He put his hands on the seat and swung his legs on either side of the cycle, careful not to bump his canvas-top shoes against the hot pipes. Ever since his grandfather died three months ago, Greg Saunders had been taking care of him, introducing him to a life he'd never imagined while living in Chinatown. Actually, it was _two_ lives: there was Greg's public life as "The Prairie Troubadour", traveling from city to city as he sang at concert halls and radio stations, and then there was his life as the Vigilante, which was the guise he'd first met Daniel in. He'd been wary of letting the boy participate in that second life, but he'd proved himself well enough, following Greg's orders to the letter whenever they went out together.

And now, he was letting Daniel in on another aspect of that second life. "Don't worry. Under all them fancy costumes, they're normal folks, just like me." He tugged at the bandana covering his face, saying, "It might take 'em a while to let you behind their masks like I did, but that's just them bein' cautious. Don't take it personal-like, okay?"

Daniel nodded, then said, "Should I start wearing a mask, too?"

Greg's brow furrowed. "We'll talk 'bout that later." He set the motorcycle in motion again, taking it slow around the corner. Soon, a group of six people came into view in front of one of the warehouses, along with what looked like a white horse with wings. Daniel gawked at it from behind Greg as the cowboy pulled up to the group, saying, "Sorry we're late."

"Hey, when did you start picking up hitchhikers, Vig?" Stripe asked, gesturing to the boy.

"Looks like a Jap," Spider said. "What did you do, bust up a junior spy ring?"

The joke made Daniel hunker down behind Greg even more, which the cowboy took immediate notice of. "He's Chinese...and that ain't very damn funny, Spider. His grandpa was killed by Japs, that's why I'm takin' care of him."

Crimson Avenger stepped forward as the two of them got off the cycle. "So I guess you've got yourself a new partner, eh?" He looked down at the boy and said, "What's your name, son?"

He just stared up at the masked man for a moment, then said with a squeak, "Daniel Leong, sir."

"Very nice to meet you, Daniel. You can call me Crimson." He shook hands with the boy, then said, "Has Vigilante told you a lot about us?"

"Uh-huh." He looked past Crimson Avenger, taking in the other heroes. Stripe stood beside the Star-Spangled Kid (though judging by his height, it looked like he was quickly outgrowing the "Kid" moniker), and Shining Knight had an arm around the waist of Firebrand, his horse Winged Victory standing at the ready behind them. They all seemed friendly enough, smiling and nodding hello when he gave them a small wave.

The only exception was Spider: he sat on a shipping crate, picking at the wood with the tip of one of his arrows and watching the whole introduction with a look of disapproval in his eyes. After a while, the archer said, "You're not planning on bringing that kid along with us, are you?"

"Sure, why not?" Vig responded. "He can handle himself real good."

"He's a_ kid_." Spider laid extra emphasis on the last word. "We're gonna be heading out into open water after a fleet of smuggling ships, and _you're_ bringing them a damn hostage." He pointed the arrow at the boy, as if he wanted to stick him with it.

"I never heard you object to _me_ coming along," Star-Spangled Kid said, "and I was only a few years older than him when I met you."

"Different case: you _are_ older, plus you've got that belt." He hopped off the crate, saying, "I'm not going to risk this mission over some wet-behind-the-ears brat that can't do anything but get in the way."

Daniel saw Greg's eyes narrow, and he knew that his new guardian was smarting just as much from Spider's words as he was. "Listen," Greg said, "I've brought him along on a few other cases, and I've seen what he can do. I ain't sayin' he's up to our level, but he ain't helpless, neither. His grandpa taught him this...I don't know, this _stuff_...a bunch of hits and kicks and things." The cowboy waved his hands in a poor imitation, trying to emphasize his point. "I've seen him take down thugs as big as you with it, no sweat."

"Is that so?" Spider stared down at the boy, the arrow still in hand, then said, "Tell you what: if he can take me down with this 'stuff', then he can come along."

"Spider, you're being ridiculous!" Firebrand said. "You want to beat up a little kid to prove a point?"

"I'm not gonna hurt him," the archer replied as began to strip off his quiver, "but I'm sure as Hell not going to take it easy on him, either. Besides, if he's as good as Vig is making out, there's nothing for him to worry about, right?"

Crimson leaned over to Greg and said, "I think Tom's serious about this. You'd better leave Daniel here before this gets ugly."

Greg didn't respond to him, instead kneeling down next to Daniel and looking him in the eye. "I'm not gonna force you to do this, son. You don't have to prove a damn thing to me, I already know what you can do. As for Spider here, don't pay him no mind, he's just thick-headed -- when he thinks he's right, he's impossible to deal with."

The boy looked from Greg over to Spider. The man was standing there, arms crossed, ready and willing to smack him around just because he didn't think Daniel belonged there. He'd been dealing with people like that during all ten years of his short life, people who thought Chinese should stay in Chinatown, away from "real" Americans...or better yet, they should all climb back on the boat and go back to China, never mind that Daniel had been born here. He knew this incident had nothing to do with him being Chinese, but the attitude was the same: _You're not wanted here, so just go away quietly before you get hurt._

He looked back to Greg and said, "I wanna do this."

"You're sure, son?" Daniel nodded, and Greg tugged on the brim of the Yankees baseball cap the boy wore, smirking beneath his bandana. "Okay, then...you go out there and clean his clock."

The boy stepped forward and began to circle around Spider, sizing him up -- he knew that the man was doing the same to him, but luckily, Spider had already expressed disbelief in his ability, so the boy gave him nothing that might dispel that just yet. "Okay, small fry, you go first," Spider said.

Daniel responded by doing...nothing. He stopped his circling and merely stood there, a good ten feet away. He didn't so much as twitch a finger.

"What, you chickening out already?" Spider goaded.

"No...I already made my move."

"Funny, I didn't feel a thing. Guess it's my turn now." He started to come at Daniel, moving fast so the boy wouldn't have time to get out of the way. Unfortunately, Daniel had no intentions of moving, at least not how Spider was expecting. At the last possible moment, Daniel dropped to the ground, his back pressed flat against the docks. Spider tried to come to a stop, but his own forward momentum caused him to stumble. As he began to fall forward, Daniel brought both of his legs up, his feet connecting with Spider's stomach. The breath whooshed right out of him, but that was the least of the archer's problems: the boy continued to push out with his legs, bringing them up and over his small body as he braced his hands against the docks, until it looked like he was attempting to stand on his head with Spider balanced on the boy's upturned feet. When the man's momentum had carried him completely over Daniel, the boy dropped his legs and tucked them under his body, so that he was crouching beneath Spider as the man continued to sail past. It wasn't until then that Spider realized how close to the edge of the docks they'd been fighting -- the boy's first move hadn't been a physical attack, he was merely positioning himself so he could knock Spider into the water!

Greg let out a whoop of approval the moment Spider splashed into the drink. "See? I _told_ y'all he could handle himself!" the cowboy said, then scooped the boy up as he got to his feet. "There ain't nobody who can mess with the Chinatown Kid!" Daniel was grinning from ear to ear as Greg hoisted him up on his shoulder, parading him around like the boy had won the World Series -- Daniel even took off his cap and waved it around, as if saluting an unseen crowd. The other Soldiers were proud of him as well, patting him on the back and saying that Vigilante had made a good choice for a partner.

Then they all fell silent as something wet splashed up on the docks: Spider had pulled himself out of the water, and was now standing there, soaked to the bone, and he looked none too happy about it. As he walked over to them, Shining Knight stepped in his path, saying, "Stay thy hand, Thomas, the boy bested thee fairly."

"Move aside, golden boy," Spider huffed, pushing past the knight. He stepped up to Greg, who'd put Daniel back down and was now standing between the boy and the archer. The two stared each other in the eye for a good long while, then Spider said, "I take it that was the 'stuff' you were talking about?"

"A bit of it," Greg replied. "There's more 'stuff' where that came from."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing he's on our side, then." Spider's gaze flicked over to the boy, then he offered his hand, saying, "That was damn clever, kid. Never saw it coming."

"Thank you, sir," Daniel said, and shook on it. The man still looked a little irked over the whole thing, but there was a grudging note of respect in his voice now as well.

"Okay, then," Crimson interjected, "if we're done playing around, let's say we get down to business..." He spent the next ten minutes laying out the plan of attack for the other heroes, with Daniel listening just as intently as the rest of them. He was still new to the game, but he was eager to learn, and as the night wore on and they moved into battle, that eagerness -- along with his novice martial-arts skills -- just endeared him to the group even more.

And by sunup the next day, everyone had taken to calling Daniel Leong by the nickname "Stuff."

* * *

_**2008:**_

Beneath the streets of Metropolis, the seven aspects of Neh Buh Lah scurried away from the Hall of Justice, their strange gibbering voices echoing off the walls of the sewer. They cursed the sorcerer for intervening, though in a way, he had done the creatures a favor: in his attempt to stop the bloodshed, Doctor Fate had let slip that the members of this "Justice League" were not truly the seven chosen warriors. They were powerful, to be sure, and could cause some damage...but they did not possess that spark of the divine necessary to drive the Seven back into their realm. Without that, the heroes were merely more meat to be torn apart in Neh Buh Lah's hungry maw. Not even Doctor Fate would be able to put up a fight against them for very long, though the knowledge he possessed about them was infinitely more dangerous than his magicks: he might be able to delay the Time of Rejoining until seven new warriors could be properly chosen. Oh, but they could not wait much longer for that moment! They could feel it building within their twisted frames, the marks upon each of them pulsing in time with one another as the forces that would bind them together once more grew to a fever pitch.

Unfortunately, they could also feel dawn approaching, which would drive away the darkness, and with it would go their ability to move freely upon this world. True, they could flee to the night-shrouded side of the planet and continue their regeneration there, but The Mind sensed that the further they moved from the site of their near-destruction sixty years ago, the more difficult that regeneration would be. It was as if some portion of themselves was still tied to Christ Church Burial Ground, and would not be recovered if they performed the Time of Rejoining elsewhere. For an entity that had spent the majority of its life split into seven pieces, the idea of losing any part of itself, no matter how small, was abhorrent. They must return there, The Mind told its brothers, and make that place of the dead their place of rebirth.

The other aspects shrieked, for they knew that, even traveling swiftly through the shadow-realm, there would not be enough time to reach Philadelphia before the accursed sun shone down upon it. Just as it had done earlier, The Mind calmed its brothers, and pointed out to them how much power they had already regained...and that calling up that power to solve their problem was a rather simple matter. With that, The Mind gestured to one of its brethren, the one that housed The Strength of Neh Buh Lah: the ability to control the great dark energies that coursed through its gestalt body when it was realized in its full glory, and would soon use to tear the Earth asunder. Though they were still seven separate creatures, The Strength could forge a link with all of the Seven and bring forth a massive surge of black magicks, just as it had done in the Hall of Justice when it overloaded the building's power supply, and later when it broke the Green Lantern's energy barrier. The task before it now was much larger, but not impossible.

The six creatures gathered round The Strength as it raised its hands above its head. They each sank their clawed right hand into its body, their left digging into the shoulder of the one next to it, until they resembled a spoked wheel, with The Strength as its axis. Then the white marks upon their bodies took on a purplish cast as The Strength gathered the magic coursing through each of them, focusing it into its upraised hands so that it could direct all that energy at their intended target.

Far above Metropolis, the pre-dawn sky began to roil with deathly-black clouds, like the gathering of a powerful storm.

* * *

"Are you telling me that we're just supposed to sit on the sidelines while those things wreak havoc?" Superman was following close behind Doctor Fate as they made their way down the hall. Hawkman followed as well, just as eager for answers as the Man of Steel. Beforehand, they had taken Batman to the infirmary, though he had not gone willingly -- Green Lantern had stayed behind with him to make sure the Dark Knight at least bandaged his wounds before he joined the others in the main foyer.

**As loathsome as it sounds, it is for your own safety,** Doctor Fate replied. They were approaching the sealed security doors, and Fate merely waved his hand, causing the doors to part with ease. **As I said before, there is no way you can stop them, and any attempt made by you would only end in your deaths. I am sorry, Kal-El, but the Justice League has no place in this battle.**

"Then why are you still here?" Hawkman asked. "My father's told me a little about you: he said you're one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. Shouldn't you be going after them right now instead of wasting time talking to us?"

**Despite what you have heard, there is little I can do to effect the outcome of these events, at least directly. Though I sensed that Neh Buh Lah had returned to the mortal plane once more, and alerted my masters -- the Lords of Order -- to their presence, I do not possess the power to defeat them. Until the seven warriors are revealed, all I can do is track the path of chaos left in their wake.**

"If seven warriors are what you need, then you're already halfway there." Katar slapped his mace into his open palm.

**I admire your courage, Katar Hol. It is a trait you share strongly with your father...but in the face of Neh Buh Lah, courage alone is meaningless. The Lords of Order do not bestow their blessings on just anyone, no matter how desperate the situation.**

"Who's this 'Neh Buh Lah' you keep mentioning?" Superman asked. "Is he the one who sent those things after us?"

**The creatures you fought and the entity known as Neh Buh Lah are one in the same.** Fate had stopped in the middle of the foyer, taking in the destruction wrought upon it. **Long ago, when the human race was little more than scatterings of nomadic tribes, seven shamans joined together in a search for power. They found a way to tap into the dark forces of the universe, which still flowed freely at that time, and were soon intoxicated by it, to the point where they decided to sacrifice themselves utterly to it. Unfortunately, they were unaware that those dark forces held a sentience of their own, and merely lacked the physical form necessary to wield it. But the sacrifice was made, and the seven shamans were torn apart and remade as one powerful being: Neh Buh Lah, "The Seven As One". Driven by a mad lust for blood and chaos, it set itself up as a god, demanding worship from the very tribes the shamans once watched over, and gathering even more power so that it could devour the entire world. It came very close to succeeding, but from each of those seven tribes, one warrior rose up to confront Neh Buh Lah. Though the odds of defeating it were insurmountable, each warrior bore within them the conviction that something had to be done, even if they had to do it alone.**

"But they weren't alone," Katar said. "There were seven of them, not one."

**But they did not know that. Not until the battle had begun did they each realize the presence of the others...but once that realization was had, the seven warriors became as one. Not physically, as the shamans had foolishly done, but spiritually: they were joined together by their desire to protect their homes and their people from this living darkness, even if it meant their own deaths. Sadly, they could not overcome the might of Neh Buh Lah, and soon lay dying, but the Lords of Order, who had been watching this upstart godling very closely, were impressed by the actions of the seven warriors, and decided to intervene. The Lords of Order ripped Neh Buh Lah from the physical form it had fashioned from the seven shamans and let it fall to dust, then split its dark spirit into seven separate entities, each of which only contained a fraction of the power it had acquired, and cast them deep into the shadow-realm where Chaos dwells. As for the seven fallen warriors, the Lords of Order gathered their spirits up and charged them with a task: should humanity ever fall under the spell of Neh Buh Lah again, they each must seek out a living mortal soul to fight in their stead, who would then be granted favor by the Lords of Order. Those seven, and they alone, are the only ones capable of splitting Neh Buh Lah asunder and sending it back into the realm that spawned it.**

"Seven warriors," Superman muttered, and looked over to the wall where large photos of the League's roster were hung. The one of the first lineup had been torn to shreds, but the one of the League's current members had been destroyed in a more selective fashion, with only the images of Batman, Wonder Woman, and Flash -- the only original members still active in the League -- ripped through. He turned to Katar and asked, "You said those creatures barely laid a hand on you?" Hawkman concurred, and the Man of Steel then said to Doctor Fate, "I think you're mistaken about the Justice League having no place in this: it appears that the original seven members are the 'chosen warriors' you keep talking about, and those things were trying to kill us before we found out about it!"

**I am afraid you have made the same mistake that Neh Buh Lah made. Though the League was founded by seven heroes, that number alone does not deem you to be the seven chosen to stand against it. It is mere coincidence, nothing more.** Fate strode over to the ruined photo of the original League and passed his hand over it -- the image began to dissolve and twist with golden light as he explained, **The number seven has cropped up in numerous places throughout history, though there is no visible connection between any of them: the Seven Sins of Man, as well as its Seven Virtues, the Seven Days of Creation, the Seven Seals that herald the Apocalypse, the fabled Seven Seas and Seven Wonders of the World...even Thanagar has its legendary Seven Devils. One might surmise that the magic released during that long-ago battle with Neh Buh Lah may have infused the number itself with power, but that is not our concern at the moment.** The twisting image began to settle down, coalescing into seven figures once more, but not the ones that the photo first showed. **Over the centuries, many men seeking power heard the whispers of Neh Buh Lah from the darkness, and were fooled into bringing it forth onto this plane, just as those shamans had been fooled, and each time, seven warriors were called upon to send it back. The seventh time occurred in the winter of 1941, but was interrupted before the ceremony could be finished. Nevertheless, the seven warriors had already been chosen.** Fate gestured to the figures in the newly-revealed picture, saying, **Behold, the champions known as the Seven Soldiers of Victory: the Shining Knight, Firebrand, the Star-Spangled Kid, Stripe, the Spider, Vigilante...**

"And the Crimson Avenger," Batman finished for him as the Dark Knight entered the room, still readjusting the spare uniform he'd pulled out of storage. Green Lantern was following right behind him. "I'm not familiar with the others," Batman continued, "but I know that a man called Crimson Avenger spent some time in Gotham back in the mid-'40s or so. Long enough to get a statue in Robinson Park, that's for sure."

"There also used to be a member of the New Outsiders called Vigilante," Superman added, "but he certainly wasn't a cowboy."

**Once again, coincidence explains the latter,** Fate said, **but the masked man who once watched over Gotham City was indeed the same Crimson Avenger who fought alongside the Seven Soldiers. Though the purpose for which they had been brought together was short-lived, they remained a team, and fought alongside each other for seven years in an effort to keep America safe, each of them unaware of the mystic bonds that tied their destinies together.**

"Seven years...there's that number again," Katar said.

"What happened after seven years?" Hal asked. "Did they finally break up?"

Fate shook his head. **Unfortunately, their destinies finally caught up with them, and all seven of them perished when the same people that tried call forth Neh Buh Lah in 1941 managed to succeed. The Seven Soldiers of Victory gave their lives to destroy it, just as the six groups of warriors before them had done.**

"So now, someone else has put on the same ceremony, and the Soldiers aren't here to stop them this time," Superman said. "But from what you've described, these spirits should've picked seven new people...why haven't they come forward to stop this?"

**Because according to the Lords of Order, the Seven Soldiers of Victory are **_**still**_** the chosen warriors, just are they were in 1941. The seventh coming of Neh Buh Lah has never stopped since then, it has merely been delayed -- first by seven years, and then by another sixty. As far as I can determine, no actual ceremony has been performed since the one in 1948.** The image of the Seven Soldiers faded away, leaving only the ruined portrait of the Justice League. **The Seven Soldiers of Victory are long dead, but my masters insist that they are the only ones who can stop this...and they speak of the Soldiers as if they are still among the living. I have tried to gain an explanation from them, but...** Fate suddenly stopped talking, then made his way over to the glass-fronted public-access doors, which faced towards Metropolis. An ugly black cloud was beginning to grow over the city, spreading quickly in all directions -- within minutes, it had cast a thick, oppressive shadow over everything below it, including Happy Harbor and the Hall of Justice, and showed no signs of stopping as it flowed across the sky, blotting out the rising sun.

"This is their doing, isn't it?" Superman asked, his eyes fixed on the underside of the impossibly-huge cloud of darkness as it rolled overhead -- by his estimation, it would cover the entire East Coast in a half-hour.

Doctor Fate nodded gravely.** Time is growing short,** he informed the four heroes. **Unless the mystery surrounding the Seven Soldiers of Victory is unraveled, this world will never see the sun again.**


	3. Part 3

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

**Part 3**

_**2008:**_

It was nearly an hour past dawn in Philadelphia, but you couldn't tell that by looking up at the sky. The three of them had seen the darkness rolling in as they were about to enter Christ Church Burial Ground, and watched as it seemed to eat up what little light the rising sun was already providing, until the whole expanse was nothing more than a black void. Alan Scott, wearing his Green Lantern costume once more, had flown upwards to get a better idea of what exactly this was, but he soon came back down to Earth, his face rather pale. "I don't know what it is," he told the others, "but the closer I got, the worse I felt. It was like something was trying to suck the life right out of me."

"Do you think it's connected to what Daniel was talking about?" Jay Garrick asked as he gave his old friend a shoulder to lean on.

"If it is, then it certainly lends his story a little more credence, doesn't it?" Beneath his Wildcat mask, Ted Grant's expression soured. "I was more comfortable with this whole deal when I thought it was the kid's imagination."

"Too late to back out now," Alan replied. He straightened up and approached the cemetery gates. "Still locked...hope the groundskeeper doesn't mind us hopping the fence." A green bubble surrounded the three heroes and carried them over the gate. "Okay, fan out and look for anything out of the ordinary. And keep your guard up: those things might still be in here somewhere."

"I've got something already," Ted said, and knelt down in the grass near the gate, picking up a torn piece of fabric. "Looks about the same color as Daniel's coat. Didn't he say that the Nebula Man tried to grab him?"

Alan nodded. "I wouldn't exactly call it a smoking gun, but it does back up at least that portion of his story."

Jay suddenly appeared next to them in a burst of super-speed. "There's a bunch of strange claw-marks on the ground just over there," he said, pointing further into the cemetery. "Plus I found what looks like a footprint near one of the mausoleums, but it definitely wasn't made by a human foot."

"So, is the gun smoking yet?" Ted asked, looking at Alan.

The Green Lantern ignored him and cast his eyes about the cemetery, saying under his breath, "But why here? Why now? It's been sixty years...where the Hell has this thing been all this time?"

A voice from above replied, **That question weighs upon us as well, Alan Scott.** The three older heroes looked up to see Doctor Fate descending into the cemetery flanked by Superman and Katar Hol, with Batman and Hal Jordan following close behind in a green sphere produced by the younger Lantern's power ring. The newcomers touched down, and Fate said, **I am surprised to find you three here. Has the Justice Society been attacked by Neh Buh Lah as well?**

"Far from it," Alan told him. "Daniel came by here last night as he always does this time of year, and he almost got killed because of it." He shook his head. "So I guess that settles it: the Nebula Man really has come back."

"'Nebula Man'?" Superman echoed.

"That's what Daniel and the other Soldiers used to call that demon or whatever it is. Guess they misheard the name the first time out...thought it was all one word."

"Wait a minute, Alan," Hal said. "Fate told us all of the Seven Soldiers were dead. If that's the case, who's this Daniel guy you keep mentioning?"

"Daniel Leong was the Vigilante's sidekick," Jay explained. "Vig picked him up a couple years after the Soldiers got together, and he kind of became the team mascot. I remember some of the guys used to call him 'the eighth Soldier'."

"Perhaps he's the reason why Fate's superiors keep saying that the Seven Soldiers are still alive," Katar said. "Maybe they meant only _one_ is, and he's all we need to stop this creature."

"I sure as Hell hope not." Ted waved a hand at his companions, saying, "Daniel ain't as spry as us, mind you. He was just a kid when all this went down, but he's about seventy-five now...and I mean a _normal_ seventy-five, not Chrono-bombed or magically young or any of that other nonsense us mystery men always manage to luck into. Plus he's over at the hospital recovering from getting smacked by a damn car, so we should leave him out of this if we can."

**I do believe we will need the help of Daniel Leong, if only for a moment. **Fate had stepped away from the group and was moving slowly towards the center of the cemetery. His palms of his hands were turned upwards, and a steady golden glow emanated from them. **There is a great deal of chaotic energy emanating from this place, which I expected due to the battle fought here, but there is another layer of energy mixed in...cosmic energy.**

"I presume by your tone that Neh Buh Lah is the source of the first energy, but not the second," Batman said, walking over to where Fate stood. "If that's the case, where does the second energy signature come from?"

Jay snapped his fingers, and a split-second later, he was also standing next to Fate, saying, "It's from Sylvester's converter belt! Pat modeled it after Ted Knight's cosmic rod -- it worked a bit differently, but the principles were basically the same."

"So the belt's still somewhere in the cemetery?" Batman asked.

**Not the belt,** Fate corrected him, **only the energy, though it seems to have decayed over the past sixty years. Judging by what remains, however, I would say that a massive amount of it had been released during the battle...more than I would think the Star-Spangled Kid's device was capable of producing under normal circumstances.**

"We're talking about seven divinely-chosen people fighting an unearthly evil from out of prehistory," Hal quipped. "I don't think the word 'normal' still applies here."

**Nevertheless, we have an anomaly, one which I believe holds the answer we seek.** Fate turned to Alan Scott and said, **I must speak with Daniel Leong about the original incident. He is the only witness we have to what occurred here all those years ago, and I need him to confirm my suspicions.**

Alan sighed. "Personally, I agree with Ted about leaving Daniel out of this...but you're right, he _is_ the only one who actually saw the whole thing. I'm coming with you, though, just to keep him calm."

"I think Batman and I should come, as well," Superman added. "Like it or not, the League is wrapped up in this mess now."

Doctor Fate gave a nod, then said, **Very well, but we must hurry. The longer we delay, the stronger Neh Buh Lah becomes.**

* * *

"Why aren't they back yet?"

Speed looked up from the magazine he was pretending to read -- he'd been on the same page for a half-hour, staring at a shampoo ad and trying not to think about the unnatural darkness that was blotting out the sky over the hospital. "They'll be back, don't worry," he told Daniel. "These things take time, you know."

"I know, it's just...I'm scared." Daniel was sitting up in bed, watching both medical staff and civilians pass by the open door to his room. His son had purchased him a pair of reading glasses from the hospital gift stop as a substitute for his busted pair, so he could clearly see the near-panic on people's faces as they hurried past. From what the two of them had heard, this darkness had not only blotted out the sunlight, but satellite communications had gone completely wonky as well -- it seemed the entire Earth was cut off from anything beyond the upper atmosphere. That hadn't stopped Victor from stepping out to try his cell phone outside, desperate to call his family back in New York. "I keep thinking that...that the Nebula Man got them," Daniel continued, a panic of his own growing in his eyes. "I keep thinking I sent them into a trap."

"We still don't know for sure if that's what this is," Speed answered. "There are other possibilities."

"Name one."

"Well...maybe we got lucky, and it's just Darkseid invading again." It was a poor attempt at humor, but Speed had to try. Ever since the darkness started to spread over the city, Daniel had acted like he was personally responsible for it. That was they way it had been ever since Greg and the others had died: the trauma of it had saddled the boy with a horrid case of survivor's guilt, and though it had lessened as the event receded into the past and he grew older, there were still times (like now) when he would blame himself for things that he had absolutely no control over. Speed half-hoped that it _was_ Darkseid, because he was afraid of how Daniel would react if the Nebula Man had truly returned.

Suddenly, the lights in the room began to flicker, and Speed nearly jumped out of his chair as the door slammed shut. _Great, now what's going on?_ he thought, then an intense glow appeared at the foot of Daniel's bed, spreading out until they saw Alan Scott and Doctor Fate materialize in the room, accompanied by Superman and Batman. That Alan had called up Fate wasn't a surprise, but the two Justice Leaguers definitely caught Speed off-guard. Composing himself, he looked at his old friends and said, "I take it you're not delivering good news?"

**That remains to be seen, Cyril Saunders,** Fate replied, then focused on Daniel. **Events have transpired that require us to briefly disturb your rest, in the hope that you possess the knowledge that may clear up the mystery before us.**

"Mystery?" Daniel sat up a little straighter in bed, looking from the older to the younger heroes. "You mean you still don't know what's happening out there?"

Superman glanced at Fate, then said, "We know the 'what', but the 'how' is still a bit muddy. Doctor Fate believes you might be able to help with that part, Mr. Leong."

"We need you to tell us exactly what happened that night sixty years ago, at Christ Church Burial Ground," Alan added. "We need to know every detail of what occurred during the Seven Solders' last battle with the Nebula Man."

Daniel paled, his hands knotting up in the bed sheets. "I was right, then," he said quietly, "he did come back."

Speed got up and put a comforting hand on Daniel's shoulder, all the while glaring at the Green Lantern. "Dammit, Alan, you should know better than to make him dredge up memories of that."

Batman shot Speed a glare of his own, saying, "We don't have any time for niceties. The clock is ticking, and if we don't act fast, it's going to blow up in our faces."

"It's...it's okay, Uncle Speed." Daniel slowly reached up and removed the elder man's hand, then looked solemnly at the heroes before him -- he was still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw, as if steeling himself for a task he dreaded. "Maybe I couldn't do anything to stop the Nebula Man from killing my friends, but if I can do something now...then maybe it'll help make up for failing last time." His gaze went towards the window for a moment -- the curtains had been drawn shut, but he didn't need them to be open to know what lay outside -- then the man who had once gone by the nickname Stuff told them, "The whole thing came out of nowhere, really. The War had been over for almost three years by then, and the Soldiers had kind of drifted apart. We all had other things going on in our lives: Greg and I would sometimes spend a few months in Hollywood while he did a movie, Lee still had a newspaper to run, Sylvester was getting a business degree at Yale...there just wasn't time to get together like we used to." He smiled and said, "I remember going to Justin and Danette's wedding a couple months after V-J Day...that was probably the last time all of us had been in the same room together.

"Then in early '48, Tom called all of us out of the blue, saying we had to get to Philadelphia ASAP. He'd been working on a missing-persons case when he stumbled across a rumor about a man amassing a secret army...a man who matched the description of the Iron Hand. He'd hoped it was only a rumor, but it didn't take long to find evidence to support it, so the call went out, and we all rushed to Philadelphia. Greg wasn't so sure about bringing me along, but I talked him into it -- I figured it couldn't be as bad as he was making it out to be. It didn't take long for me to learn how wrong I was." Daniel paused, a sick look on his face, then said, "When we raided the Iron Hand's new lair, we found a charnel house. We were too late this time: they'd finished the ceremony already, and summoned up the seven demons that made up the Nebula Man...who then slaughtered everyone in the chamber, the Iron Hand included. It wasn't too hard to pick up on the trail of carnage they left behind, and we spent the night chasing them throughout the city, trying to stop them, or at least contain them. Then a few hours before dawn, we thought we'd cornered them in Christ Church Burial Ground, but we were wrong: the demons had just been biding their time until they could join together.

"And that's when the real fight started."

* * *

_**1948:**_

"Don't let up on him!" Spider perched atop one of the tombs and set his feet, readying a concussive "stinger" arrow. It was his last one, and the others he'd let loose had no effect on their target. _Not surprising, _he thought_, they must feel like mosquito bites to the thing._ But he couldn't let thoughts like that stop him, and he took aim at the 20-foot creature's head. The stinger flew straight into the white void that was its right eye, and while it let out a howl that shook the headstones around them, it didn't appear to have suffered permanent damage. It did, however, turn its attention on Spider, who was notching one of his standard razor-sharp arrows, futile as it would be.

As the Nebula Man reached out for him, a bright streak of red, white, and blue slammed into the back of its pitch-black head, while a rope encircled its outstretched hand. "You got a good hold on him, Vig?" Star-Spangled Kid called out as he administered another blow to the creature.

"So long as this lariat holds and I don't run out of gas, I reckon I'll be doin' just fine!" The rope lashed tight to the handlebars of his motorcycle, the Vigilante opened up the throttle and tried to pull the giant to the ground with pure horsepower. The tires spun and kicked up sod, but no progress was made. "C'mon, ugly, cooperate and fall over already!"

In response, the Nebula Man yanked its arm back, sending the cowboy and his iron horse flying like a kid swinging a yoyo. The rope snapped and the bike landed on a bare patch of cemetery grass, but Vig collided with one of the grave markers and went down in a heap. Crimson Avenger, who was standing nearby, rushed to his side. "Are you all right, Saunders?" he asked as he knelt down, his red cloak partly obscuring them from the battle.

"Sure...just like fallin' onto a pile of feather pillows..." Vigilante groaned, then waved his fellow masked man away from him. "Never mind me, go fill that owlhoot full of lead."

"Gladly." Crimson went to get up, then sagged back to his knees, his face suddenly pale and a hand clutching the small of his back. Vig hadn't seen his friend take any major blows during the battle, so he couldn't fathom what was wrong. He was about to ask when Crimson forced himself to his feet, muttering under his breath, "Not now...can't let it stop me now," then returned to the battle, his twin automatic Colts blazing away at the monster.

From above, Star-Spangled Kid continued to rain down blows on the Nebula Man, while Firebrand poured on a little heat of her own. Shining Knight flew about below them on Winged Victory, taking swipes at the creature's legs and midsection in an attempt to force it to the ground -- his enchanted sword appeared to be penetrating the creature's defenses, and it began to hunch over, apparently in defeat. "That's it, we've got him on the ropes!" the Kid said, and flew down to deliver another punch...only to be knocked for a loop as the Nebula Man suddenly reared up, spewing forth from its mouth hundreds of miniature versions of itself, each about three feet tall and all with sharp claws and needle-like teeth. They swarmed down on the Soldiers, all except Star-Spangled Kid, who found himself caught up in the grip of the Nebula Man's enormous ebony fist, his ribs snapping under the pressure as the breath was slowly squeezed out of his lungs.

Stripe tried to fight his way through the little gremlins, batting them aside with his fists and barely noting the blood welling up from the wounds they inflicted. All his attention was focused on Sylvester as the young man struggled to escape from their foe. Shining Knight had changed tactics, hacking away at the Nebula Man's arm in the hopes that he could force the monster to drop his fellow Soldier. Meanwhile, Firebrand was carpeting the cemetery with flames in an effort to incinerate the miniature threats, with Spider and Crimson Avenger using their respective weapons to pick off any that escaped her attention.

Despite their efforts, a few managed to slip past all the heroes and make a beeline to the still-groggy Vigilante, who was struggling to get to his feet, his right arm dangling at his side -- he'd nearly wrenched it out of the socket when he went flying off his cycle, and running into a solid slab of granite upon landing certainly hadn't helped matters. Despite the pain, though, the cowboy saw the things coming and drew one of his Peacemakers with his good hand. The bullets tore through them, causing them to shriek and fall to ash when they took too much damage, but he didn't have enough ammunition in his cylinder to take down all of the creatures. A lone survivor closed in on him, running on all fours and gnashing its teeth like a rabid monkey, then made to leap at Vig...and caught a shovel in the face. It flew back and slammed into a tombstone, but that didn't deter it for long: it jumped at the newcomer, who continued to bash it with the shovel until Vigilante swapped guns and unloaded a couple more bullets into the pint-sized nightmare, reducing it to ash like its brethren. The task complete, he turned to his rescuer and snapped, "Dammit, Stuff, didn't I tell you to take cover?"

Daniel stood there, shovel still at the ready, and replied, "I did take cover...then I saw you go down like a sack of potatoes, so I decided to lend a hand. Isn't that what sidekicks are supposed to do?"

"Any other time, I'd agree with you, but right now, I'd feel a lot better knowin' y'all was out of the line of fire." He began to reload his pistols, but his injured arm wasn't making the task very easy. Without a word, Daniel took the weapons from his mentor and reloaded them in record time, just as Greg had taught him, then handed them back. "Okay, maybe there's still a use for you 'round here," Vig muttered, and gave the teenager one of the pistols. "Stay close to me, and follow my lead. Don't try nothin' fancy without my say-so."

"Yessir." The two of them rushed back into the fray, joining the others as they continued to throw everything they had at the monster. While they still couldn't bring it down, they did manage to make it release Star-Spangled Kid, who fell limp as a rag doll to the ground. Stripe and Crimson rushed over to him as the others provided cover, all of them hoping that the young man was still alive, but before they could pull him to safety, the Nebula Man raised its hands, and dozens of headstones suddenly ripped loose from the earth and rained down upon the Soldiers.

"Foul beast!" Sir Justin cried out. "Have thee no sense of honor?" He flew straight at the Nebula Man's head, slashing at its eyes with his sword. In return, it batted the knight and his mount aside as if he were nothing more than a fly. Firebrand came to her husband's defense immediately, throwing one fireball after another at its maw, until she began to drop herself from exhaustion, the flames that constantly encircled her dimming and sputtering. Luckily, Shining Knight was able to sweep low and catch her, then carried her over to a nearby mausoleum that their comrades had taken refuge behind.

Spider let arrow after arrow fly from behind the marble walls, while Crimson Avenger, Vigilante, and Stuff flanked him with their own weapons, all in an effort to keep the monster at bay while Stripe made sure Star-Spangled Kid was all right. The young man's face was pale beneath his mask as Stripe pulled it off of him. "Can you hear me, Sylvester? C'mon, say something." He lightly slapped his partner's cheek, trying to get some sort of response out of him. "Dammit, Kid, you're scaring me here..."

"I hate to say this, folks," Spider called out, "but we might want to start thinking about a retreat. We're almost out of ammo here."

Shining Knight bristled at the notion, saying, "We are the only thing keeping the Nebula Man from attacking the city. If we turn back now, the demon's attention will surely fall there, and the deaths of countless innocents will be upon our heads."

"But we can't fight a battle empty-handed, either!" The archer turned towards him, jerking a thumb at the quiver on his back. "I've got four arrows left, their guns are almost dry, and your wife looks like she's about to fall off her pins! At this rate, it won't matter if we retreat or not, because _we'll all be dead_!"

The knight was about to spit back a rather venomous reply, but Firebrand put a hand on his chest and looked up at him. "Justin...he's right. We need to get out of here, call in the Justice Society before..." Her words were cut off by a cry of warning from Vigilante as the Nebula Man smashed its fist into the mausoleum, scattering chunks of stone everywhere. The majority of the structure held, but it was obvious that it wouldn't be able to stand up to many more blows like that.

"We're going to have to make a decision here, and fast," Crimson said, nearly shouting to be heard over the Nebula Man's bellows. "At least one of us is going to have to make a break for it so we can get word to the JSA. In the meantime, the rest of us will lay into this monster and keep it distracted until our runner gets away clean."

"Question is," Vig added, "do we got enough sand left in us to distract it that well? The thing ain't lost sight of one of us durin' the whole fight."

"Then maybe...we n-need...a bigger distraction..." They looked over to where Star-Spangled Kid was propped up against the side of the mausoleum. The young man had regained consciousness, but judging by the shakiness of his voice, he still wasn't doing well. He tapped a finger against his cosmic converter belt, saying, "There's enough raw power in here to...to take out a city block. We could rig it...m-m-make it blow up..."

Stripe's eyes widened. "Kid, that's crazy."

"You...you designed the thing, Pat. You know it'll work."

No one said a word. What the Kid had suggested was tantamount to suicide, but it stood a better chance of working than anything else they'd thrown at the Nebula Man that night. The seven heroes looked at each other, as if taking in one another's thoughts simply by looking into their eyes, and within each one they saw reflected a memory from seven years ago, of standing on a rooftop and swearing an oath...and without saying a word, they all knew what had to be done.

"How long will it take?" Crimson Avenger asked Stripe.

"Not long." The man was already helping his young partner remove the belt. "The casing's cracked, but I think the hardware inside's okay."

Crimson nodded, then he turned to Vigilante, who gave him a nod of his own. The cowboy reached over and plucked the Peacemaker out of Stuff's hand, returning it to his holster, then said, "It's time to go, son."

Daniel blinked at his mentor. "Go? But we can't just leave them here to..."

"I ain't leavin' 'em...but you are." More masonry flew overhead as their foe attempted to goad them out of hiding. Vig did his best to ignore it, instead putting his hands on Stuff's shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "You're gonna be our runner, understand? When I give the word, you're gonna take off like greased lightning and get as far from this place as you can. I don't want y'all to stop 'til you reach the goddam state line."

The teenager stared at the other heroes, unable to believe what was happening. "No...no, I won't go, you can't make me..." He shook his head, trying with all his might to hold back tears.

"Stuff...Daniel, look at me," Greg said softly, and pulled down the bandana covering his face. "Somebody's gotta go, and you're the only choice. The rest of us...long before you came into my life, me and the others made a promise. We promised that we'd do whatever it took to stop this thing, and now...now we've gotta live up to it. You weren't there, so you ain't got no obligation. We do."

"You don't have to die, you don't..." He kept thinking of his grandfather, and of his parents...everyone he'd ever loved had died, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. Now it was happening again: over the past five years, Greg had become a combination of big brother and father figure to him, and the other Soldiers were just as dear to Daniel as any family he'd ever had. There was no way he could just let them march off to their deaths like this. He threw his arms around Vig and buried his face in the man's shoulder, begging him not to do this.

There was a click, then a low, mechanical whine, and Stripe said, "It's ready. Once we activate it, we'll have about ten seconds before it blows."

Daniel tightened his grip at that, but Greg managed to pry him loose anyways. "C'mon, son, time's a-wastin'," he said.

He looked at his mentor with red eyes, sobbing, "I love you, Greg."

"I love you too, son...you're a good soldier, always have been." He pushed back the boy's ball cap and kissed him on the top of his forehead, then said, "Now run, faster'n you've ever run before."

Stuff didn't move, he felt anchored to the spot, and instead looked from the cowboy to the others in the group as they readied for the last charge. Star-Spangled Kid wobbled a little at he got to his feet, one hand clutching the belt and the other holding onto Stripe. Shining Knight and Firebrand exchanged kisses before he mounted Winged Victory once again. Spider nocked one of his last four arrows while Crimson Avenger checked his pistols. Vigilante pulled his bandana back into place, then turned away from Daniel, albeit slowly. With that silent gesture, the boy seemed to feel something sever between them, and he began to run towards the cemetery gates, legs pumping, breath racing in and out of his lungs, tears streaming down his face.

As he reached the gate, he took one quick glance over his shoulder. There they were, the Seven Soldiers of Victory, moving as one towards the Nebula Man as it roared at them, not one of them hesitating as they rushed headlong to their fate. Then he saw Star-Spangled Kid raise his arm, and Daniel knew what was coming. He pumped his legs ever faster, dashing into the street clogged with stopped cars and civilians who stood transfixed at the horrific battle they'd been witnessing inside Christ Church Burial Ground. He yelled at them to take cover as he ran past, diving over the hood of a car just as the area behind him suddenly blazed with light, followed by a muffled _whump_, like a depth charge going off. He chanced a look from behind the car, and saw a bizarre sight: a dome-like shockwave of energy engulfed the cemetery, black as pitch but illuminating the area like daylight. People screamed as it neared the perimeter of the cemetery, but then it began to retract until it became nothing more than a pinprick of ebony light hanging over the area, which soon winked out as if it had never been.

Sirens were approaching the area. Some people in the crowd were still screaming, unable to comprehend what they'd just seen, while others cautiously inched towards the gate. Stuff was among them, forgotten, just another bystander in the midst of chaos. He stared hard past the throng, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friends walking towards him, a little worse for wear but still alive, but he saw nothing of the sort. Every trace of both the Law's Legionnaires and the Nebula Man had vanished. The headstones and debris of battle remained, but that was all: no bodies, not a shred of clothing, _nothing._

Daniel Leong, "the eighth Soldier", was the last one standing.

* * *

_**2008:**_

A deathly quiet filled the hospital room as Daniel paused to remove his glasses and wipe tears from his face -- though sixty years had passed, the memory of that day was still fresh in his mind. After a moment, he said, "I did just what they told me to do: I contacted the JSA, and they hotfooted it out to Philadelphia. Even though the Nebula Man was gone now, there was still a lot of cleanup to do, and they took care of it." He swallowed hard, then said, "The worst part of it was covering up the truth. Not about the fight, there was no way to hide that, but about what happened to Greg and everybody else. We didn't do back then like you guys do now, with these big funerals and the whole world shows up. Back then, if a hero died, we kept it quiet, and we made up a cover story...only this time, we had to do seven at once. We didn't...we couldn't even tell Sylvester's parents what really happened to him, we just told them some story about him and Pat being in a plane crash and that there were no bodies recovered." He paused again. "There were a lot of plane crashes that week."

"I'm sorry we had to put you through this, Mr. Leong," Superman said.

"No, it's okay, really." He slipped his glasses back on, saying, "I've never told anybody the whole thing before, not even to my own family. I should tell it, though, just so other people will know about it, and not forget them."

Alan stepped over to the side of the bed opposite Speed and patted Daniel on the shoulder. "None of us have ever forgotten them, Dan, especially you. I think they'd be proud of the way you've honored them all these years."

"Thanks...but I'd trade all that praise in a heartbeat if I could see them again."

**You may get your wish, Daniel Leong.** Everyone turned to look at Doctor Fate, many of them with a rather surprised expression. **What you have told us has confirmed my suspicions, and unless I have miscalculated, there is a good chance that the Seven Soldiers of Victory are still alive.**

Speed was the first to recover his voice as he blurted out, "If they're alive, then where in blazes have they been for the past sixty years?"

**We shall find out soon enough. But first, gentlemen, we must return to the cemetery.** He gestured to the three heroes, and they stepped close to the sorcerer once more as they prepared to leave.

"Wait a minute, I'm coming along," Speed said, and stepped over to join them.

"Forget it," Batman replied. "If those demons show up again, we'll be busy enough without having to worry about a civilian in our midst."

"'_Civilian_'? Son, I was walking the Danger Trial while you were still crawling around your little cave wearing diapers." He went over to stand next to Alan. "Besides, do you guys really think I'm gonna be able to sit still around here after Fate drops a bombshell like that?"

"Be careful, Uncle Speed." Daniels' expression had brightened a bit, there was still a note of worry in his voice. "Please..._all_ of you be careful."

"Don't you worry about us. You just rest up and let us take care of things." Speed flashed Daniel a grin as Doctor Fate began to weave the teleportation spell. After they had faded from view, Daniel settled back against the bed and looked towards the window once more, the curtains still drawn against the unnatural darkness outside.

"Dear Lord, let it be true," he whispered. "Let them be alive...somewhere."

* * *

**The key to all this is the cosmic energy,** Doctor Fate explained once they'd returned to the cemetery. **The forces that powered the Star-Spangled Kid's belt are the same which shaped the universe itself, and when he unleashed all that power against Neh Buh Lah -- a creature made of pure chaotic energy -- the resulting explosion not only dispersed Neh Buh Lah's essence, but it also briefly tore a hole in reality itself, pulling in the Seven Soldiers of Victory and scattering them across the timestream.**

"You mean all these years we thought they were dead, but instead they've just been lost in time?" Ted asked.

"It certainly sounds that way," Superman said. "The question now is: how do we get them back to the present?"

**Once again, the cosmic energy comes into play. **Fate raised his hands and a white glow spilled from them, spreading out over the cemetery. In its wake appeared tiny pinpricks of light, some floating free like dust motes, others clumping together in larger ribbon-like waves. The highest concentration of them formed a massive humanoid figure twisted out of shape, like it was being torn apart. Around it were seven human-sized figures, one of whom appeared to be astride a winged horse.

"Oh my God," Jay breathed. He and the other older men present stared in disbelief as the pinpricks of light coalesced into the faces of people they hadn't seen in six decades. Jay reached out to touch one that bore striking resemblance to Stripe, but his hand passed right through. "It's like seeing a ghost."

**What you see is the final moment of battle, before they were pulled into the timestream,** Fate told them. **The surge of cosmic energy left an imprint, if you will, upon reality, and though much of it has decayed, enough remains that I can use it to track where each of the Soldiers ended up...but not enough for me to pinpoint each individual person and pull them back into our time. I can, however, send someone to each of the proper time periods to retrieve them.**

Hal glanced at the other heroes around him, then said, "Well, I'd consider it lucky that you happen to have seven people here that are more than willing to give it a shot."

"What about me?" Speed said. "You League guys don't even know them, but they were friends of mine. I want to help out too."

"That may be so," Katar replied, "but we have no idea where or when your friends are, or if this will even work." In a lower tone, he added, "And I know that Kendra would surely skin me alive if I let any harm befall her grandfather."

"She can get feisty, can't she?" Speed looked the younger heroes over, as if judging them, and said, "I guess I can step aside and let you boys go at it. Just promise me that you'll bring them all back in one piece."

"You have our word, sir." Superman looked to Doctor Fate. "What do you need us to do?"

**At the moment, nothing.** The sorcerer's hands had begun to glow again, this time the white light taking on swirling veins of ebony. **I first need to trace each of the Soldier's paths through time. As I find them, I shall then send one of you down that path to wherever it ends -- hopefully, you should each arrive not long after they did, and have little trouble finding them. Once you do, you must return to the point at which you materialized, and you will find a portal there which shall bring you back here. But I must warn you: the portal will only open if both of you are present. If you cannot find your target, you will be just as lost in time as they are.**

"Well, glad to know there's no pressure," Ted muttered.

Fate seemed to tense, then he said, **I have them. Please, stand perfectly still while I perform the final spells.** The images around the cemetery faded as Fate drew in the ambient cosmic energy, shaping it to suit his needs.

**First comes the Shining Knight,** Fate said as he gestured to Katar, who soon found himself engulfed in a strange black light. Within seconds, he had vanished.

**Now the Spider.** Ted's costume seemed to take on an ever deeper shade of black as the light moved over him, then he was gone.

**For you, Firebrand.** Now it was Batman's turn to disappear.

**And for you, the Crimson Avenger.** Hal's ever-present green glow was quickly swallowed by black.

**The Star-Spangled Kid.** Fate chose Superman this time, and the Man of Steel vanished just as easily as the rest, then he turned to Alan, saying, **As well as his partner, Stripe.** The elder Lantern was gone now.

"Guess I know which one's mine," Jay said, looking over at Speed. "Don't worry, I'll have Greg back here faster than you can say..."

"_Look out!_" Speed pointed towards Doctor Fate, but it made no difference: clawed hands were already ripping at the sorcerer's legs as the fractured aspects of Neh Buh Lah surfaced from the shadows below. Out of instinct, Jay dashed forward in a burst of super-speed to help, completely forgetting Fate's earlier instructions. At the same moment, Fate cast the final part of the spell, but between Jay stepping out of place and the surprise attack, the spell went wild, striking Speed Saunders instead.

Jay took no notice of this, as he was far too busy trying to pull Doctor Fate free of his attackers. The seven creatures sank their teeth into both men, drawing blood and howling with delight over it. Disgusted, Jay let loose a flurry of super-fast punches, scattering the creatures across the cemetery. "Are you okay, Fate?" Jay asked as he helped the mystic to his feet. "Can you finish the spell?"

**It is already done.** He gestured to where Speed had been standing earlier. **It appears that Cyril Saunders got his chance to help...but I am not entirely sure if the path I sent him on will reach the Vigilante in time.**

"What's that supposed to mean? Did you send him back to get Greg or not?"

**It is of little consequence now. We have far more pressing matters at hand.** Fate was looking over to where the creatures had landed: they writhed on the ground like snakes, their bodies twisting around each other in contortions no human could possibly duplicate, until it was impossible to tell where one creature ended and the other began. All the while, a chant spoken in an unholy tongue filled the air, rising in volume as the bodies themselves seemed to rise, their mass increasing at an alarming rate.

**Prepare yourself, Jay Garrick,** Fate said in a grave voice. **The Time of Rejoining has begun.**


	4. Interlude: A Lonely Soldier

**INTERLUDE: A LONELY SOLDIER AWAY FROM HOME**

All was quiet on the Mississippi. A gentle breeze blew across the water and stirred the Spanish moss hanging from the trees lining the banks, and from time to time the twitter of birdsong could be heard. A pristine picture of Southern beauty, just waiting to be captured on canvas by an artist, but none were around to do so -- not a soul was at that spot on the wide river at the moment, no one nearby to witness all that God-given glory.

Then something began to happen at a point about twenty feet above the river: a strange boiling in the air, small at first, then growing until it took the shape of a man. It remained indistinct for a few seconds before the details came into focus -- the shape gained color, the face gained features -- and for a few seconds more, the figure hung in the air as if suspended by strings, then gravity took hold and he plummeted, hitting the surface of the river like a rock and sinking out of sight. The noise of his splashdown sent the birds into a frenzy, taking off from the trees en masse. When it seemed that all the commotion had passed and the world had returned to its original placidity, the river was disturbed once again as the man broke the surface, gasping and coughing, ripping away the red bandana covering his face so he could better draw breath.

His name was Greg Saunders, and his mind was reeling. The last thing he could remember with any clarity was fighting alongside his fellow Soldiers, trying to take down the creature known as the Nebula Man. The battle had taken a turn for the worse, and Sylvester...what had that kid done? Something drastic, but they all agreed it was necessary, so they'd charged forward as one, and then there was an explosion, and...

_I should be dead_, he thought. _I felt the shockwave rip through me, and there was light, a black light..._ He whipped his head around, taking in his surroundings. _If I ain't dead, then where in blazes am I?_ _This sure don't look nothin' like Philadelphia...not to mention that it's daylight all of the sudden._ He coughed up more water, then called out, "Crimson? Sir Justin? Where is everybody?" No answer came, which certainly didn't help his confusion. _Maybe they sank deeper than I did, _Greg thought, and briefly considered diving back down to see if he could spot anyone before pushing the idea aside. It was taking all the strength he had just to keep his head above water, a task made more difficult by the fact that his right arm had been wrenched badly during the fight. _You're gonna have to worry 'bout yourself for the moment, Saunders. Get to shore before you drown out here. _He soon realized that was easier said than done: the river appeared to be close to a half-mile wide, and he was floating roughly in the middle of it. _Don't think 'bout the distance, _he told himself, _just start swimmin' and don't stop 'til y'all got land under you._

After the first few strokes, however, his battered body was shivering from the strain. "Keep goin'...g-gotta keep goin'," he gasped, but it was no good: his soaking-wet clothes, coupled with the weight of the sixguns strapped to his hips, threatened to pull him under every time he paused to rest. "Ain't gonna drown...you ain't gonna drown..." he repeated over and over, but he knew merely saying it couldn't prevent it.

He was bracing himself to try again when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye: something massive was coming towards him from upriver, a boat of some sort. _Thank you, Lord_, he thought, then called out, "Hey! Hey, I need help!" He clutched his bandana in his good hand and waved it about, yelling until he was hoarse. It seemed like forever before he heard the peal of a brass bell and a voice shouting, "_Man overboard!"_

As the boat came closer, Greg saw it was an old-fashioned paddleboat, the great red wheel at the stern churning up the water behind it. It was an odd sight, but he was in such dire straights, he didn't care if his rescuers were in a rubber dinghy so long as they pulled him out of the drink. He treaded water as best he could until he saw someone on the lowermost deck toss out a rope. It hit the water a good eight feet away, and Greg clumsily swam over to it, wrapping the end around his good arm and holding on for dear life as the men on deck pulled him in. When he was within reach, some of the men took hold of his royal-blue shirt and yanked him over the rail -- Saunders hit the wooden deck with a wet thud. "Get back! Give the man some air!" someone said.

Grasping one of the rail's supports, Greg pulled himself up to a sitting position and tried to catch his breath. As he stared back out at the river, he saw something small and white bobbing in the boat's wake. "That's my hat," he rasped.

"Well, you'd best bid it farewell, because I'm sure as Hell not diving in there for it." Greg turned his head and saw a man in a tweed suit and bowler hat kneeling beside him. Funny thing was, the cut of the suit looked to be a few decades out of fashion. "How'd you end up in the middle of Ole Miss, anyhow?" the man asked. "You fall off another boat?"

"'Ole Miss'...Mississippi? I got blown all the way to Mississippi?" He blinked in disbelief. "That's...what, five states away?"

The man cocked an eyebrow. "You're _on_ the Mississippi, but you're _in_ Louisiana," he explained, then asked, "Where did you think you were?"

"Philadelphia…at least I _was_ in Philadelphia," Greg said as he ran a hand though his matted-down hair, his brain still coming to grips with the new information. The change in venue certainly explained the paddleboat, as well as the man's outdated clothes – this was probably a showboat of sorts, running up and down the Mississippi River for the benefit of tourists, giving them a taste of the Old South. Then he took a look at the other men and women gathered around them, whispering amongst themselves about their unexpected visitor: they were all dressed in turn-of-the-century fashions, down to the last bustle and starched collar. Not a stitch of modern 20th century clothing could be seen. _Okay, so they all work for the tourist trade_, he thought. "Where's the captain?" he asked the man in the tweed suit. "I need him to get on the radio, see if we can get some more boats down here. My friends…"

"You need him to get on _what?_" The man stared at him.

"The radio. Get on the radio, call the Coast Guard or whomever patrols the river." Saunders climbed unsteadily to his feet, looking out over the water. "If my friends landed up here too, they might be in as bad of shape as me."

"Mister, you'd better sit back down. You're not making one bit of sense." The man turned to the crowd and said, "Does anybody know if there's a doctor onboard? I don't think this fella's all right in the head."

"Probably drunk," another man said, his own suit as out-of-date as the first gentleman's. "You know how cowboys get when they're in town. Bet you a dollar he got sloshed on some other sternwheeler an' fell over the side."

A woman beside him clucked her tongue. "Abel, that's a terrible thing to say. The poor man's been through a trauma." She stepped forward, her petticoats rustling, and patted Saunders on the arm. "Don't you worry, dear, you're safe and sound now."

"Um…thanks." This was getting far too strange for him. He was about to ask the woman if everyone on board was an actor or if they provided costumes for passengers when a newcomer approached from the bow -- judging from his own period getup, Greg figured he must be the captain. "Sorry if I'm interruptin' your show," he said, doing his best to stand up straight, "but I need you to call the authorities, it's an emergency."

The captain gave him a sour look. "What are you talkin' about? Who the Hell are you to be givin' me orders on my own ship?"

"I'm the Vigilante, with the Seven Sol…"

"You bein' a vigilante don't hold a bit of sway with me," the captain interrupted. "Vigilance committees aren't real law, so unless you've got a badge stashed under that shirt, you'd best stow that high-and-mighty tone right quick, mister."

"'Vigilance committee'?" Greg echoed. "Listen, I understand y'all want to project an 'old-timey' image and all that, but can you drop it for five minutes or so? I need to borrow your radio so's I can…"

"What in blue blazes is a 'ray-dee-uh'?"

The man in the tweed suit shrugged. "Got me. He's been saying all sorts of odd things ever since he got on board."

"He's drunk!" the man addressed as Abel called out, and the woman shushed him.

"What's wrong with you people?" Saunders yelled in frustration. "My friends could be _dyin'_ right now, and y'all are too wrapped up in your playactin' to lift a finger! If you're not going to help me, then get the Hell out of my way." He tried to push past them, but the captain grabbed Saunders by his right arm and jerked him to a stop, sending a white-hot jolt of pain up into his injured shoulder.

"Now you wait just a damn minute," the captain said. "I don't know who you think you are, but I'm not about to let you go wanderin' about my ship, especially since you can't seem to talk anything but nonsense. Now, you're gonna come with me, an' you're not gonna give me a lick of trouble about it, or else I'll heave you back over the side, you savvy?"

Teeth gritted against the pain, Saunders nodded his assent, and let the captain lead him into the paddleboat's interior, all the way to what appeared to be the man's personal quarters. As with everything else he'd seen, the room was filled with perfect reproductions of late-19th century furnishings and sundries, with not one anachronism to be found to shatter the illusion. "I don't know who owns this boat, but he sure sank a lot of money into makin' it authentic," Greg muttered as he looked around the small cabin, holding his sore arm against his chest. He walked over to a roll-top desk tucked away in the corner – a crisp copy of the _St. Louis Dispatch _was laying on top of it, the date below the masthead declaring that it had been printed on May third, 1875. "You folks did a better job here then they did on my last movie."

The captain frowned. "Do me a favor, son: Don't talk unless I ask you a question. It helps cut down on the gibberish. Now, do you got a proper name, 'Mister Vigilante'?"

Now it was Greg's turn to frown. Telling his true identity to a civilian wasn't something he did often, but considering the urgency of the situation, plus the fact that half the people on this boat had seen his face, he figured he had no choice. "My name's Greg Saunders…reckon you've probably heard of me."

"Why? You wanted for something?"

"Huh? No, I meant you probably heard me on the radio, or saw one of the movies I've been doin' lately…not that I'd really recommend them, I pretty much do 'em for the exposure."

"Right, that 'ray-dee-uh' thing again. Mind explainin' to me exactly what that's supposed to mean?"

"Look, I've tried to be patient, but this isn't funny anymore. Stop playin' dumb and _help me!_"

"Son, I'd love to help you, but I swear to the Lord Above that I don't have the foggiest notion what you're talkin' about." He stepped over to where Greg stood beside the desk and gently laid his hands on the man's shoulders. "Now I figure you must've whacked your head or something when you was out in the water, and you don't realize that you're not makin' any sense. So until we get into port, I want you to just sit here and be quiet, and we'll get you to a doctor as soon as we can."

Saunders glared at him, the frustration and worry he felt slowly turning into outright anger, then he began to realize that this man wasn't playing around -- he seriously didn't understand what Saunders was asking for. _But how could you not know something like that? _he thought. _Everybody knows what a radio is…unless…_ He swallowed hard, then glanced back down at the newspaper on the desk. "How…how old is that?" he asked.

The captain followed his eyes. "Picked it up when we stopped there last week."

"So today…" He almost couldn't say it. "So today's date is May tenth, 1875?"

"Eleventh, actually."

"Same dif'rence." It was a good thing the captain had a hold of him, because Greg felt his knees unhinge. The man guided him down into the desk chair, asking him if he was all right, but Greg couldn't find the words to answer, his mind was too fixed on the date. _This can't be right, it's got to be a dream,_ he thought. _How in God's name could I have been tossed into the past?_ Then an even more troublesome thought popped into his head:_ Am I the only one, or did the rest of the Soldiers get tossed back too?_

His train of thought was disrupted by a knock on the cabin door. "Excuse me, Cap'n," a young man said, "but they need you up in the wheelhouse."

"Be there in a few minutes." The captain looked Saunders in the eye. "If I leave you here by yourself, you promise to sit tight 'til I get back?" He nodded, then the captain went over to a trunk sitting nearby. He rummaged through it for a moment, then pulled out a well-worn shirt and a pair of pants. "Here, you might want to change into something drier before you catch your death," he said, laying them on top of the trunk.

"Thanks," Greg mumbled, but he didn't move from the chair. When the captain went to leave, though, he called out, "Wait…where exactly is this boat goin'?"

"St. Roch. Is that where you were headed?"

With a sigh, Greg replied, "It is now."

* * *

The bullets were ruined, he was sure of that. After he'd changed into the dry clothes (and wrung out his boxers as well as he could -- he wasn't about to wear somebody else's clothes with no underwear beneath), Greg pulled out his guns and did his best to dry them out with a rag he'd found. He was sure the pistols would be fine, but the bullets…no way was he going to trust ammunition that had been sitting in water for as long as he'd been. At least he knew finding replacement ammo would be easy: the guns were authentic 1873 Colt Peacemakers, passed down from his father, who in turn had gotten them from Greg's grandfather. Matter of fact, ol' Grandpa Jud was probably running around Wyoming with those same guns at that very moment, a young man who'd come to the West seeking adventure, and who eventually would help tame it as a lawman. It was bizarre to think about, but that didn't make it any less true -- he wasn't in 1948 anymore, and the sooner he faced up to that, the sooner he could figure out just how in the Hell he got there.

It had to have been the Nebula Man. That was the only explanation he could come up with that seemed even remotely possible. When he and the other members of the Seven Soldiers of Victory found out about the thing, and just what the Iron Hand planned on doing with it, they knew they had to stop it no matter what. Only problem was, they weren't entirely sure what it was capable of -- they knew it was some sort of powerful demonic force, but just how much power did it have? Enough to send him flying through time? _It would probably help if my brain wasn't so muddled,_ he thought. The shock of the explosion -- he was _sure_ there was an explosion -- had apparently blocked out parts of his memory. _Never mind what you don't remember, focus on what you do._ Greg rubbed a hand over his face, trying to recall everything he could, but it just wasn't enough. For now, he'd just have to assume that everyone else got caught up in the same blast as him, and that they'd all ended up here as well.

_Wait…where had Daniel been?_ He sat up straight, his face pale. _I told him to run, at least I think I did…oh God, why did I let him talk me into bringin' him along?_ He should have known better, but everything had happened so fast, he hadn't thought at first about the danger he might be putting his young partner in. But the moment Saunders realized just how high the stakes really were, he'd made sure that Daniel Leong wasn't part of the equation. "I told him to run," he repeated aloud in an effort to assuage his fears. "I _know_ I told him to run, and he's never disobeyed me before…Stuff's a good soldier, always has been." Though not officially part of their group, the boy was as close as one could get -- "the eighth Soldier", that was their nickname for him -- but that didn't make that particular battle his. No, that was for the original seven alone. _I just hope that wasn't our last battle,_ he thought.

The captain returned to the cabin once they'd pulled into port. Despite the man's insistence, Greg begged off on seeing a doctor -- though his shoulder ached like crazy, and his ribs were bruised up pretty bad as well, he figured he'd be fine after a day or so. That, and he knew the captain was more concerned about Greg's brain than his body, but trying to explain the truth about his earlier confusion certainly wouldn't help matters much, so he bluffed his way out. "I was just in shock from fallin' in the river, that's all," Saunders told him. "Sittin' down for a bit cleared that right up, though." The captain didn't seem entirely convinced, but let him leave the boat anyways, his soggy garments balled up in a cotton sack and his sore arm tucked in a sling he'd made from his bandana.

Now came the hard part: Where should he start looking for the others? The docks seemed the most likely place, on the off chance that they'd been picked up like he had, so Saunders began to make his way along the riverfront, doing his best not to gawk at the antiquated sights -- and people -- around him. _This is normal for them,_ he kept telling himself, _absolutely normal. Just because you ain't seen things like this outside of old photographs don't mean you need to be starin' at 'em like that._ To help distract himself, he worked up a line to feed to folks when describing what his friends looked like -- he certainly wasn't going to tell anybody straight out that they were all from the future, and crime-fighters at that. _Circus folk,_ he decided, _that's the best way to explain their costumes. Yep, we're circus folk, and the boat we was travelin' on had an accident, and I fell overboard. Nice and simple._

Unfortunately, he soon found a good cover story was the least of his problems. After talking to damn-near every sailor he came across, he ended up with zilch. No one had picked up anybody stranded in the water, nor had they seen anyone matching the description of his friends at any of the ports along the way to St. Roch. In fact, the only positive thing that came out of the whole ordeal was a sympathetic soul gave Greg three dollars to tide him over until he was reunited with the others. He didn't want to take it at first, then realized he had no choice, as it wasn't very likely that the local shops would accept currency from the 20th century. _At least I'll be able to get a hot meal and maybe a room for the night, _he thought as he stuffed the bills into the pocket of his borrowed pants, _then I can start fresh in the morning._

The morning…Lord, it wasn't even sundown yet, and he was already thinking of this whole misadventure in terms of days. The possibility of being stuck there long-term wasn't one he was ready to consider yet, even as he left the riverfront and entered St. Roch proper. He'd been there once before in his own time, playing a quick one-night gig years ago to promote an album, then zipping off to the next stop -- he didn't even recall venturing far beyond the theatre. Seeing it now in its earlier days made him wish he'd lingered a little more the first time, just so he could take note of the changes seven decades would bring to the place. For sure, the younger St. Roch seemed a busy town, with people coming to and from the docks almost constantly. The crowds thinned up a bit the further he got from the water, but even then he sometimes found himself stepping off the boardwalk and into the muddy street to let a knot of people pass on by. It was his own fault, really: they all knew where they were going, whereas he was simply wandering about like a wide-eyed tourist on his first trip to the big city. _Yeah, some city, _he said to himself. _I ain't seen one building higher than three stories yet._ In an odd way, it reminded him of the little Wyoming town where he'd grown up, just with older trappings. That made the idea of spending more than a day there a bit easier to swallow.

As the sun dipped lower in the west, Greg decided he'd better see about getting some food in his stomach and a pillow under his head…and considering the money situation, he wasn't all that choosy about either. He headed back to the main street, where he'd seen a fair amount of saloons, and simply ducked into the first one he came across that didn't look too pricey. The place only had a few patrons, and most of them were too focused on a poker game going on at one of the tables to even notice Saunders as he walked up to the bar. A balding, heavyset man stood behind it, wiping a shot glass with the corner of his stained apron. Greg tried not to make a face at the sight of that, and asked, "Excuse me, sir?"

The man glanced at him from the corner of his eye, as if suspicious of the word "sir" being used in his presence. "Shot or bottle?"

"Um, neither." _Especially if that's goin' to be my glass,_ he silently added. "I was hopin' y'all served food in here."

The man grunted, "Two bits," then turned and went through a doorway behind the bar. He could hear the sound of meat sizzling a moment later -- Greg assumed that must be the way to the kitchen -- then the barkeep returned. "You sure 'bout not wantin' any likker?"

"Positive." Considering his situation, remaining sober seemed the best course of action. "Got any coffee?"

"'At's a nickel." Back through the doorway again, this time lingering back there a bit longer before coming out with a tin plate and cup. The barkeep stood in front of Greg, an expectant look on his face, but didn't set the food down. It took Greg a moment to realize what he was waiting for, and pulled out one of the paper dollars the sailor had given him. The man snatched it up and, after finally relinquishing the chow, went over to another section of the bar.

_Wonderful ambience this place has_, Saunders thought, and looked at the food. He was pretty sure it used to be hamburger, with bits of chopped onions sticking out of the half-cooked meat. He poked at it with the fork, unsure if he should attempt to eat it -- he thought some of the meat looked a mite green.

"Don't worry, it's edible," a voice said behind him. He turned to see a woman standing there, tray in hand. He'd missed her on his way in. "It may be the sorriest-looking Hamburg steak ever, but the meat's good, I promise." She paused, then added, "You might want to skip the coffee, though."

Greg laughed in spite of himself -- after the day he'd had, it felt good to do so. "Okay, I'll take your word for it," he said. "If I get salmonella, though, I'm blamin' you." As he dug in, the barkeep came by again, laying a half-dollar on the counter for Greg's change. "Hey, wait a minute," he said as the man walked off, "you shorted me." The man turned around and gave him the same look as when he first came in, but Saunders continued anyways. "You said two bits for the food, and a nickel for coffee...that's thirty cents, all told."

"An' a Yankee greenback's only worth eighty, so 'at's all you get. You're lucky I even took the cussed thing."

Saunders cocked an eyebrow, saying, "Since when is a dollar not worth a dollar?"

"You're not from around these parts, are you?" the woman asked him, then said to the barkeep, "Give him a break, Mort. He looks like he needs one."

_You don't know the half of it, lady_, Greg thought. Mort the barkeep grumbled under his breath as he produced the other twenty cents, which Greg scooped up before the big man could change his mind. "Thanks for helping out," he said to the woman.

"Like I said, you look like you need a break. I'd advise you stick to spending gold or silver while you're in town, though, or you'll get more of the same."

"I would, but paper's all I got." He propped his chin on his hand. "This certainly explains that fella's generosity...he must've known greenbacks weren't worth face value 'round here."

"What fella's that?" Greg tried to wave the question off, but the woman prodded, "Come on, I ain't got nothing to do 'til those guys need another round." She laid the empty tray on the bartop. "You might as well tell me a story."

He took a few more bites of food, thinking, then began to tell her the same tale he'd repeated up and down the docks earlier, now adding on the part with the "good Samaritan" and the greenbacks. "So now I reckon I'm back where I started: dead broke and alone," he said once he was done. "If I don't find my friends tomorrow, I ain't rightly sure what I'm gonna do."

"Well, you're not completely broke," she replied. "You've got more than enough silver to cover a room here. That's better than sleeping in some back alley."

"I suppose you're right." It was strange: though he couldn't tell her the entire truth, telling her what little he could made him feel better. She seemed to honestly be listening to him as he spoke of his troubles. "I think what's bothering me most is not knowing where they are, if they're okay or not."

The woman began to say something else, but they were interrupted by one of the poker players coming over to them, calling out, "Alice, honey, time to congratulate me!" He sidled up to her and threw an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "I've got two hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket...care to help me spend a little?"

"I think I could spare you some time. Why don't you go meet me upstairs?" She ran a finger along his jawline with a playful smile, and he did as she asked. Alice then looked at Greg, saying, "I'm sorry, but Jerry's not the most cultured fella."

"No apology necessary." Greg felt stupid for not realizing that she probably did more around the place than just serve drinks -- it certainly explained why she seemed to be such a good listener. "I'm sorry if my problems were keepin' you from your...business." That seemed the nicest way to phrase it.

She laughed. "Don't worry. 'Business' doesn't usually come up until one of those guys wins big. And besides, I think you needed me more at the time than old Jerry needs me now." She then smiled at him, a more genuine one than she'd given the other guy, as she turned away from him. "You take care of yourself, mister."

"Greg...my name's Greg...and thanks again." He watched Alice as she ascended the stairs at the back of the saloon. She had a nice body under that dress, and if he'd been inclined to partake in her particular 'business', he was sure he wouldn't regret it.

* * *

The bed he slept in that night over the saloon was barely worth the two bits he paid for it, but remarkably, he did sleep. The events of the last twenty-four hours had sapped Saunders completely, to the point where he probably could have conked out on the bare floor and not noticed the difference. When he woke up the next morning, he actually called out to Daniel a few times in a groggy voice, asking the kid to bring him some strong coffee and a couple aspirins, until the gears in his brain began to move enough for him to remember that Daniel wasn't there, and this definitely wasn't the New York brownstone he called home. He lay there in bed for a while as his situation sank in anew, wondering how he should go about looking for his fellow Soldiers today. Walking the docks obviously wasn't enough -- this time, he was going to have to head back upriver, hopefully all the way back to where he'd fallen in. But how? He knew from asking around yesterday that two dollars and change certainly wouldn't buy him passage on a boat, and going on foot would take forever. Then he remembered seeing a livery off the main street -- if he was lucky, he might be able to rent a horse for the day.

A plan decided on, Greg dragged himself out of bed, his body a mass of aches, and got dressed. His uniform was dry now, but it smelled moldy from being in the river, so it was back to the borrowed duds...which didn't do much to hide the stink that was beginning to come off himself. _I'd pay for a bath if I had the money to spare,_ he thought as he tried to tame his dark hair into something respectable,_ but unless I find the others today, I'm gonna need to hold on to every nickel I got._ Greg looked around for Alice as he exited the saloon, but she was nowhere to be seen. He thought about asking Mort where she was, but considering the man's surly attitude last night, it seemed a poor idea, so he left without a word, making a beeline for the livery.

It took quite a bit of talking, but eventually Greg managed to secure a horse, riding tack and all. The only drawback was, since he didn't have enough money to cover the entire fee, he had to leave his Peacemakers as collateral -- they were useless until he could afford bullets anyhow, but that didn't make handing them over to a complete stranger any easier. As he rode off to the north, parallel to the river, he tried not to think about the fact that he was now armed with only a sturdy pocketknife. _At least with the guns strapped on, I looked like I could do a little damage. Now I just look like some bum...easy pickings for any owlhoots prowling the back roads._ He pushed that thought aside, and concentrated instead on finding any trace of his friends: a footprint in the mud, a scrap of one of their uniforms, anything to let him know he was on the right track. Every mile or so, he'd stop at a tree near the riverbank and carve _VIG_ into the bark, with an arrow pointing the way to St. Roch -- if the others were doing the same as him, hopefully they'd find it and understand. By the time midday had come and gone, however, the gesture seemed futile, and Greg was beginning to sag in the saddle -- he was just too tired and too hungry to go on with the search that day. Besides, he still had the ride back to consider. He marked one last tree, then looked out over the Mississippi with a sigh, saying, "I ain't givin' up, fellas, I promise...and I hope y'all won't give up on me."

It was nearly dark by the time Saunders reached St. Roch again, saddle-sore from head to foot -- bouncing around on a horse all day certainly hadn't helped the pain he was already in. _What I wouldn't give to have my motorcycle here_, he thought as he left the livery, his reclaimed guns back in place. _Who gives a damn if it'd scare the piss outta everybody, at least the thing's got shocks and a cushioned seat._ He somehow managed to make it all the way back to the saloon, this time choosing to collapse at an empty table near the door instead of standing at the bar. Most of the same men from the previous night had shown up again, along with a few others, and Alice was working her way from one group to the next, smiling all the while. Greg leaned back in his chair and watched her, marveling at how she dealt with them -- he imagined that a woman in her position probably wasn't treated in any sort of kind manner most of the time, but she seemed to take it all in stride. When she finally noticed him, he nodded and did his best to smile, though he was nowhere in the mood to do so.

"Well, look who's back," she said as she passed near his table. "You stopping in for a bite?" He nodded again, and she went over to the bar, eventually coming back with the food. "You're lucky, Mort's fixing up hash tonight...it's not bad." She stood back a little and regarded him. "You're a lot quieter tonight. No luck finding your friends?"

"Not a one. I ain't turned up hide nor hair of 'em, but I can't just give up, y'know?" He poked at the food with his fork. "They could be only a few miles away, but too hurt to be searchin' like I am."

"You should go talk to the sheriff. He could send out a wire to some of the other towns around here. That would help, wouldn't it?"

Greg sighed. He didn't want to drag lawmen into this -- they'd ask far too many questions that he couldn't answer -- but she had a point. "Maybe tomorrow...I don't know." He ate a little more food, then said, "I know that I'm gonna have to spend part of the day beggin' for a job, that's for sure. I've only got enough money left on me for the food and a room tonight." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "Know of anybody willin' to hire a waterlogged musician?"

Alice tilted her head, looking at him. "I thought you said you worked for the circus?"

His eyes widened, suddenly realizing the slip-up in his story. "Well...I do work for the circus...as a musician," he said, fumbling with the words.

"Uh-huh...what do you play?"

"Guitar, mainly, but I've been known to bang out a tune on the piano now and then." He looked about the saloon. "Too bad you ain't got one here, I'd play you something."

"Actually, hold that thought." She stepped over to the bar and talked to Mort for a moment, then went into the back room. She came out a few minutes later carrying, to Greg's surprise, a fine-looking guitar.

"Where in the world did you get that?" he asked, leaving the table and meeting Alice halfway. Greg took the instrument from her and immediately started to give it a once-over -- except for a bit of dust and some odd scuff marks on the backside, it was in perfect shape.

"Some dope calling himself 'the Minstrel Maverick' came in here a few months back, and him and some other guy busted up the place," she explained. "He claimed he was on the side of the law, but Mort wasn't too happy with the damage they caused, so he took the guy's guitar to pay for it. It's been sitting in the storeroom ever since." She nodded towards the barkeep, saying, "If you promise not to do the same, Mort might let you play here in exchange for room and board."

Greg had only been half-listening, his attention focused on strumming the strings and adjusting their tension accordingly, but the last sentence made him look up. "Wait a minute...are you sayin' that old sourpuss over there is givin' me a job?"

"Not yet. He said he'll let you fool with the thing tonight, but if he ain't impressed, then no deal."

"Oh, I'll impress the socks off of him." He tossed the guitar's strap over his shoulder and began to play. It was only idle pickin' at first as he acquainted himself with the new instrument, no particular tune in mind. Then one occurred to him that seemed appropriate, and he started singing, his fingers dancing over the strings:

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

And I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away."

For the first time since he'd arrived in the past, Greg felt in his element. Ever since he was a boy, music had been one of his greatest pleasures -- no problem was so big that it couldn't be forgotten for the few minutes it took to perform a song. The feeling that came over him as the words poured out made the weariness inside him fade away briefly, and the ache in his shoulder virtually disappeared. In fact, he was so wrapped up in singing that he barely noticed the saloon around him -- he could have been standing in front of a mike at the recording studio, or on stage in a concert hall with a thousand people seated before him -- no matter the locale, the energy he put into his performance was the same. When he was done, and Saunders came back to reality, he was surprised at the way everyone in the saloon was looking at him. Even the fellas playing poker had stopped their game to listen.

"Land's sakes, Greg, that was..." Alice shook her head, words failing her. "I was expecting a little finger-pickin', not a serenade."

"Always give the audience more'n they expect," he replied with a wink.

"Where'd you learn that song, anyhow? I don't think I've ever heard anything like it."

He bit his lip, then said, "Well, it's still kind of new...but trust me, someday, everyone in Louisiana will know it by heart."

"Play it again!" one of the poker-players called out.

"Naw, play 'Old Dan Tucker'!" said another man standing at the bar.

"Reckon that's up to the owner." Greg looked in Mort's direction and spread his hands. "What do you say, boss? Room and board, plus I keep any tips."

The barkeep snorted, "You expect tips?" He then waved his hand and said, "Sure, if'n anybody here's willin' to pay you for what you're doin' for free, y'all can keep it."

Saunders grinned, and turned back to the other men. "Gentlemen, requests cost a nickel per song."

* * *

He felt like a kid again. Not so much in the sense of actual youth, but owing more to the arrangement he'd struck with Mort. It was quite similar to ones he'd made when he first came to New York as a wet-behind-the-ears country boy, right down to the stipulation about the tips. Those first few years were awful, Greg remembered: living hand-to-mouth, playing on a bench in Central Park for spare change when he couldn't land a gig, sleeping in the back storerooms of bars when he did. But that was before Bill Gunn became his agent, before he made his name on the radio as "The Prairie Troubadour"...and certainly long before he started his second career as the Vigilante. None of that success meant anything back in 1875, though -- he was back to square one, albeit with a lot more experience under his belt. He knew how to read a crowd now, figure out what was working in a performance and what wasn't, and he'd built up a healthy stable of responses for hecklers. All that helped keep the nickels coming as he played his heart out every night, glad that he'd memorized just about every song Stephen Foster ever wrote.

The gig also helped in another way: it took Greg's mind off what was becoming a futile search. At Alice's insistence, he'd spoken with the local law about his missing friends, concentrating more on physical descriptions than the actual circumstances of their separation. So far, that had led to nothing, and Greg had exhausted his options in the area around St. Roch, but he kept looking anyways. It was wearing him out, searching all day and performing all night, but he refused to give up on the notion that the other Soldiers were out there, just waiting for him to find them.

One morning, nearly a week after he'd arrived in St. Roch, he was getting ready to head out once again when there was a knock on the door of his room. He opened it to find Alice standing there, dressed a bit more demurely than usual. "Morning," she said. "Just thought I'd check and see what plans you had for your day off."

"What day off?"

"It's Sunday. Town's got an ordinance against drinking and gambling on the Sabbath, so Mort closes up the bar. Of course, if you want to play for a bunch of empty chairs, you're welcome to it."

"No, I don't find that all too appealin'." He scratched under his chin, thinking. "Well, knowin' now that I don't have to rush back, maybe I'll go down to the docks and see if I can hitch a ride upriver for the day. I think I might have enough money now to..." He stopped, seeing the look of disappointment on Alice's face. "You had something else in mind?"

"I was kind of hoping you might be willing to spend a little time in town with me instead." She smiled slightly, saying, "I'm not sweet on you or anything, so get that idea out of your head. It's just...I know you're worried about your friends and all, but if you don't give yourself some time to rest, honey, you're gonna bust."

Greg sighed and leaned against the doorframe. He hated to admit it, but she was right. "Okay, today it's just you and me. No hittin' the trail, no walkin' the docks. Hell, I won't even look in the direction of the river. So...what would you like to do?"

"Actually, I hadn't planned that far ahead yet. I thought for sure you'd wave me off and go do like you always do."

"Don't you remember what I told you? Always give the audience more'n they expect." He held out his arm, and she took it gladly, the two of them leaving the saloon for a little Sunday stroll. Many of St. Roch's residents were in church, but there were enough moving about the town to see the couple -- Greg did the friendly thing, giving them a smile and nod, but the gesture they'd return was more akin to a glare. After the third or fourth time, he noticed the way Alice tensed up. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I'm used to it myself, but it didn't occur to me..." She shook her head, not wanting to say more, but he pressed her until she finally answered, "The folks in this town prefer that their whores stay inside."

"You're not a whore."

"What do you think me and them boys do when we go upstairs? Play whist?" She leaned against his shoulder as they walked along. "You're sweet, you really are...but you can be a real idiot too, sometimes."

"That's part of my charm." They both chuckled at that, and he continued, "I just meant that you're sellin' yourself short, callin' yourself a whore like that's all you are. Nobody's just one thing and that's it...and they ain't always what they look like on first glance, neither. Take me, for example: when you first saw me in the bar, what did you think I was?"

She thought about it for a moment, then said, "A cow-puncher, I suppose. A bit down on your luck, to be sure -- and I was right about that -- but between the clothes and the guns, I never would have figured you for a musician." She furrowed her brow. "Why do you wear those guns, anyhow? Can't imagine circus life being that dangerous."

"Well, I wasn't _always_ in the circus," he replied, inwardly debating how much he should reveal -- he avoided talking about himself as much as possible to keep from constantly inventing new lies. "My friends and I...we used to be soldiers."

"Y'all met during the War?" He gave a noncommittal shrug, and she asked, "What regiment were you in?"

Greg smirked, then said, "Law's Legionnaires, outta New York."

"Aha."

"What? What's 'aha' about?"

"It's about you secretly being a Yankee. Certainly explains why you seem so ignorant about some things: you haven't spent enough time amongst us genteel Southern folk," Alice said with a smile. "A few more years, and you'll fit right in."

"Yeah, a few more years." He tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out flat.

The smile faded from her face, and she stopped walking. They'd left the main streets far behind them, and were now in St. Roch's Lagnappe District, where many of the town's well-to-do residents lived. She looked up at him, saying, "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I was just trying to make a little joke, that's all."

"No, you're fine. My mind just...it was on something else when you said that." He turned away slightly, and was surprised when she took his hand and pulled him back a few steps. "What are you doin'?"

"We're backing up. I think we were about...here." She set him at a spot roughly eight feet from where they'd stopped walking. "Okay, we'll do this over again. You were telling me about you and your friends in the War, and that your regiment was called Law's Legionnaires." She looked at him expectantly. "So? You gonna keep going?"

He blinked at her, then started laughing, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, the Law's Legionnaires, that's what we called ourselves," he said once he'd composed himself. "Some other folk down the line started callin' us the Seven Soldiers of Victory, but Law's Legionnaires was our first name."

"There were only seven of you? That's barely enough for a platoon."

"Oh, but if you saw us in action, you wouldn't believe your eyes." They began walking again, and Greg told her, "Tom and Justin, they always seem to argue over who'll take point. Tom's really headstrong, doesn't listen too well to other people's ideas, and Justin...well, it's his background." His eyes wandered up to the clear blue sky above them. "He just gets up on that horse and dives straight down into the thick of it, never mind that the rest of us are doin' our damnedest to catch up. Danette's the only one of us who can talk him down when he gets like that. She's sort of the conscience of our group...the little sister all us boys try to protect, even though she can scrap just as hard as the rest of us."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Y'all had a girl fighting alongside you? What'd she do, disguise herself and sneak in?"

"As a matter of fact..." he started to say, then shook his head. "That's a whole 'nother story. Maybe some other time."

"Okay, so what about the others?"

"Pat and Sylvester...now those two are fun to watch. They were a team long before the Soldiers came along, so they've got their own rhythm. That's not to say they don't work well with the rest of us, but if we have to split up during a fight, we know for sure to put them together. Then you've got Lee...we'd been friends for a while before we got our group together, though me and him are kind of like 'country mouse and city mouse', y'know? We don't look like we should get along, but we think a lot alike when it comes to doin' the job. And he's smart too, he's good for makin' plans. If we had to choose a _de facto_ leader for the group, I'd say it'd be a toss-up between Lee and Justin."

"You can't put it behind you, can you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"The War. You talk like you and your friends are still fighting in it," she said with a frown. "I've seen a lot of men that act like it all happened yesterday instead of ten years gone. Like those Black Sunday fellas...they probably wish the War never stopped."

"What do you mean, 'Black Sunday fellas'?"

"A little local history, and not the good kind. A few months after Appomattox, a gang of former soldiers was raising Hell around these parts: stealing from farms, terrorizing folks on the road...they even strung up some coloreds for no good reason, least none anybody could figure out. Most lawmen 'round here were afraid to go after 'em, but the sheriff here in St. Roch, he managed to get the drop on one and brought him in alive. Reckon maybe he thought he'd make the old Reb talk, tell him where the rest of the gang was, but he never got the chance: the morning after the sheriff nabbed him, the Reb's friends rode into town to set him free."

Alice slowed her walk, eventually coming to a full stop. "It was Sunday, in case you hadn't already figured, and most folks were in the church that used to be over thataway," she said, and gestured to the southeast end of town, far from the fine homes surrounding them at the moment. "Far as anybody knows, the gang went there first, blocked up the doors, then set the church on fire. After that, they hit the other buildings at random, just chucking torches in windows and shooting anybody that dared come outside, until they reached the jail. By then the whole town was pandemonium, so the sheriff was all by his lonesome when the gang got hold of him, and when they were done..." She let the words trail off, her arms hugged tight against her. "Thirty-eight people died that day, including the sheriff. A whole lot more were hurt. Far as I know, nobody ever dared to bring those men in again, and they eventually moved on to God-knows-where."

Greg didn't know what to say. The brutality of that, the cold-heartedness of such an act...his father's death years ago, the tragedy that drove him to become the Vigilante, paled in comparison. "My friends and me...we're not like that," he said after a time. "We've been through a lot of battles over the years, but we always fight to _prevent_ things like that, with our dyin' breaths if need be. If we'd been here, those men would've regretted ever settin' foot in St. Roch."

She tilted her head to look at him. "You really mean that, don't you? Y'all would have stood up for a town full of strangers, just 'cause it was the right thing to do." He nodded, and to his surprise, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, saying, "If there were more folks like you in the world, it might not be such a bad place to live."

"Funny, I've thought the same thing 'bout you ever since I washed up here," he said, and leaned down to return the gesture. She surprised him again, however, by turning her head so that his lips met her own instead of her cheek. "I thought you said you weren't sweet on me?" he asked.

"I'm not sweet on you." She slipped her arms around his neck. "Not in the least."

"Okay, just so we're clear on that." He pulled her close for another kiss, paying no mind to the stares coming their way from the respectable folk passing by.

* * *

The word "love" never entered their conversations, neither of them wishing to speak it for their own personal reasons. That didn't prevent them from occasionally enjoying the intimate pleasure of each other's company as the weeks passed and the humid summer nights began to roll in. During the daylight hours, Greg spent less and less time searching for his friends and more time in town -- the initial discomfort of his situation was all but gone, and he found himself settling into the rhythm of life in St. Roch. It was a nice place, with good people who accepted him into their number without question, and some of whom were showing up at the saloon on a regular basis just to hear him play -- it eventually reached a point where Mort had to admit that Saunders' presence was increasing business, and starting paying him a reasonable wage. All things considered, he had it pretty good...and perhaps that was why he got blindsided so easily.

It was a night like any other, with Greg sitting on a stool near the back of the saloon, strumming away on his guitar. He'd decided to try one of his own songs out on the crowd, just for variety, and was pleased with the reaction so far. As always, he began to lose himself in the moment, his eyes closed and the words coming out of him with an easy flow, the joy of performing being carried along in his voice. Somewhere in the middle of the choral reprise, however, another voice managed to carry something back to him with enough force to make his fingers stumble on the strings:

"Hey, Greg! Where the Hell have you been?"

It was like somebody had thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. The song died in his throat, and his eyes snapped open, scanning the crowd frantically. _Pat...that sounded just like Pat_, he thought, and got off his stool and began to push his way past folks, his heart banging away from excitement as he tried to spot his friend. He then saw a burly redheaded man near the bar, his back to Greg. "Oh my God...Pat, you're alive!" he shouted, and grabbed the man by the arm and spun him around.

"'Scuse me, son?" the man said, looking down on Greg with a face that definitely didn't belong to Pat Dugan. The build was right, as was the hair, but that was all -- not even the voice matched up. Greg stared at the man, his mind unable to adjust to what he saw, then he heard his name again, this time from another part of the saloon. He turned and saw a dusty cowpoke standing up from a table and waving to another man who just entered the place. The cowpoke laughed and clapped the newcomer on the back, talking to him in the same voice that Greg had heard call his name.

It was a coincidence, plain and simple. A total stranger who sounded vaguely like Pat, greeting another stranger who just happened to be named Greg. Numbness crept up Saunders' spine and down his arms as he watched the two men settle down at the table, pouring drinks and catching up on old times, and when the numbness reached his fingers, the guitar in his hand fell to the floor with an unmelodious thud. He heard a woman saying his name from somewhere far away, but he didn't look. He _couldn't_ look, he couldn't handle being wrong again. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and another on his cheek, turning his head until he was facing Alice. "Greg? What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

He opened his mouth to tell her yes indeed, he _had_ seen a ghost. Seen and heard, right this very second, in a roomful of people at that. But no words came out, not so much as a squeak, though he found that tears came easily enough.

A customer nearby banged on his table, saying, "Hey, keep makin' with the music!"

"Put a cork in it, fella!" Alice snapped, then began to steer Greg towards the back room, pausing only to pick up his guitar and place it behind the bar. Saunders didn't fight her in the least, having barely enough strength in him to stand -- when she led him over to a crate laying in the corner, he more collapsed on it than sat down. Alice then sat as well and put her arms around him, letting Greg lean on her as he tried to regain control of himself. "It's okay, honey, it's okay," she said softly, not having a clue as to what caused him to break down.

"No...no, it's not," he managed to choke out. "I'm lost...all of us, we're all lost..."

At first, she didn't know what he meant, then it slowly sunk in. "You're not lost, Greg. You found your way here, and someday your friends will too, I know it."

"No, they won't...they can't." He pushed away from her, shaking his head. "I've been foolin' myself ever since I ended up in this place, not wantin' to admit the obvious. I just kept on tellin' myself that so long as I kept lookin', we'd eventually find each other, and then everything would be jake...but it ain't gonna happen. Pat and Lee and all the other Soldiers, they're just as lost as me, maybe even dead...maybe they think _I'm_ dead." He stared down at the floorboards, saying, "Nobody knows where I am, there's no rescue comin'...I'm gonna be stuck here for the rest of my life."

They both sat in silence for a moment, then Alice told him, "You're a lousy soldier, you know that?" Greg picked up his head and looked at her, and she continued, "You talk about how you and your friends fought together in the War, and that y'all were willing to lay your lives on the line to help folks, but the minute you think that they're all gone from this world, you're ready to give up. Do you think they'd want you to do that?" She reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I know you miss them, and I know the thought that they might be dead is a terrible one, but _you're not dead_. There's a lot of life left in that heart of yours, and you can't just toss it away like it means nothing. You've got keep fighting, even if it's on your own, because if someone as good and caring as you gives up, what does that say to the rest of us?"

Greg stared down at the floor again. What she said had merit, but it did nothing for the pain inside him -- after weeks of denial, finally facing up to the notion that he'd never see his home or his friends again just hurt too damn much. He thought of all the battles he and the other Soldiers had been through over the years, and how close they'd all grown because of those shared experiences -- many of them had no family, but to one another, they became family. Then he remembered that first night in 1941, when they'd been virtual strangers to one another, drawn together by circumstance. No one could have predicted that night what lay ahead for them, or that they'd greet the dawn surrounded by new friends, each of them willing to speak an oath that would bind them to a mutual cause, and make them comrades in arms. That oath came to mind as he sat there, and he found himself reciting it aloud just as he'd done seven years before, only now he spoke it alone: "While tyrants breathe, and men conspire against their fellows, and greed stalks unleashed...this good right arm shall never falter, nor this good sword be sheathed."

"What does that mean?" Alice asked.

He wiped at his wet cheeks with the heel of his hand, then turned towards her. Though his eyes were still red, she could see something new in them, a hint of steel shining through the pain. "It means that a member of the Law's Legionnaires isn't allowed to sit around on his butt feelin' sorry for himself," he answered, "especially when there's still work to be done."

* * *

Saunders told her everything after that. About who he and his friends really were, about where they were really from, and about their last stand against the Nebula Man. She didn't want to believe a word of it, of course -- how could anyone believe such a thing, considering what little proof he had -- but the more he talked, the more convinced she became. She also couldn't look at him the same way afterward, and when Greg said a few days later that he was thinking about leaving St. Roch, it didn't surprise her, though it didn't please her much either. She knew deep down, however, that it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with him and who he was behind that warm smile and caring nature. He was a Soldier, he always would be, and he didn't feel it was right to hide himself away when he could be going out into this new world and helping others.

When the day came for him to depart, Alice walked with Greg to the outskirts of town, leading a fine palomino behind him. They talked very little on the way, the two of them having spent most of the night talking in bed, in between heated bouts of lovemaking. He promised to write, and to be careful, but when it came to the notion of him returning to St. Roch someday, he danced around it. Alice wouldn't let him off the hook, though, and when they paused at the head of the road that led west, she asked him one last time, "When will I see you again?"

Greg avoided the question for a minute, turning away from her and checking the straps on his saddlebags. The neck of his guitar jutted out from one of them -- he'd managed to talk Mort into letting him keep it, even though the man damn-near spat nails over him quitting. "I don't know if I'll ever be back," he said finally. "I'm not tryin' to be mean, it's just...I can't say for sure what lies ahead, and I don't want you waitin' on me like I've been waitin' on my friends. You should go on livin' your life, not sittin' around wonderin' when I'm gonna walk through the door."

"Maybe I _want _to sit around waiting for you, did you ever think of that?" She laid a hand gently on his back. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been when he landed in the river, now all cleaned and mended: a royal-blue shirt, cuffed jeans, and a red bandana tied around his neck, all topped off with a new white drover's hat. He called it his uniform, though to Alice, they just looked like fancy cowboy duds. "I'm not asking you to set a date," she continued, "just that you try and stop by now and then, that's all."

"Okay, I'll try," he said, and looked at her with a smile. "But if you find somebody else to 'not be sweet on' in the meantime, don't hold back on my account." She agreed, and the two of them embraced, but didn't kiss -- it seemed easier that way. "Before I go, there's one more thing," Greg said once he pulled back.

"What is it?"

"Sort of a souvenir, and sort of a message...just in case." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an odd, V-shaped belt buckle -- she remembered seeing it on his gunbelts before, and now noticed that he'd replaced it with a plain brass one. He pressed the V buckle into her palm, saying, "I want you to hold onto this. Keep it somewhere safe, and if you should ever come across somebody who doesn't look like they belong around here -- maybe they look a little lost, or their clothes don't seem quite right -- you show 'em that." He closed her fingers around the buckle, one last sign of hope left behind on the trail.

"You show 'em that," Greg said, "and you tell 'em that the Vigilante's still ridin', and that his good right arm ain't faltered yet."

**END INTERLUDE**


	5. Part 4

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

**Part 4**

_**Somewhere, Somewhen:**_

Do you feel that?

A sense of terrible foreboding, as if an alarm bell were going off deep inside you, telling you that something was going horribly wrong in the universe.

It's not your imagination. It's real.

The world is teetering on the brink, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But don't worry. Other events have been set in motion, a counterbalance to stop this descent into darkness.

So be still. Be quiet. Wait and see.

It will all be over soon...

* * *

When Alan Scott materialized, he found himself falling towards a ship's mast. Luckily, he managed to recover himself before impact, skirting inches above the unfurled sails. _Okay, looks like it worked_, he thought. _Now I just have to figure out where Stripe is in all this._ He gained some altitude to get a better view, and saw that the ship he almost collided with was an ancient Viking vessel, complete with a fierce dragon's head carved into the bow. It was docked in a primitive harbor along with a couple other ships of a similar design, and upon the decks were more than a few Vikings, who were staring up at the Green Lantern in awe. Unfortunately, Stripe didn't appear to be among them. _Better try my luck inland, and hope that these guys don't take me as a threat._ He flew towards the shore, where he could see the edge of a village, along with many more Nordic men and women who froze upon seeing him. A couple called out to him in their native language, but the words meant nothing to Alan, though the message sent by the weapons many others brandished came through loud and clear. Afraid of being attacked should he come down any lower, he hovered a good fifteen feet above the village, calling out, "Pat! Pat Dugan! Can you hear me? It's Alan!"

There was a commotion near one of the huts, and he soon saw a man in a familiar striped shirt emerge from a knot of Vikings. "Hey, Alan! Down here!" Pat yelled, laughing and waving up at him. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"I wish I could say the same for your new friends," Alan replied. "Any way you could tell them to stand down so I can land?"

Stripe turned to a blond-haired man who'd been following close behind him, saying, "This is my friend..._friend,_ get it? He won't hurt anybody. Make them lower their weapons." He pointed to the sword hanging from the blond-haired man's belt, then gestured towards the ground, saying a word Alan couldn't make out.

The man looked at Stripe, then up at Alan, still hanging in the air above them. After a moment, he spoke to the other Norsemen in a strong, clear voice, until they'd all lowered their weapons and backed away from the area beneath the Lantern, giving him more than enough room to descend. Once he'd touched down, the blond-haired man approached Alan and, placing a fist over the hawk sigil stitched onto his rough-spun tunic, bowed deeply and spoke at length in his native language. After he was done, Alan looked over at Stripe and asked, "Do you have any idea what he just said?"

"Nope...but Jon's a good man, so I'm sure it was nothing but nice things." He laughed and clapped the Green Lantern on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Alan. I know it's only been a couple days, but I was beginning to think I was stuck here."

"It's good to see you too." He looked the man over, still amazed to find that Pat Dugan was alive after his disappearance sixty years ago...not to mention that, from Pat's point of view, only a fraction of that time had passed. There were bandages peeking out from under numerous bloody tears in Stripe's uniform, as well as a few cuts and bruises on his face and hands, but the man still looked like he was ready to jump back into the fight. _Which we'll be doing soon enough,_ Alan thought, then said aloud, "I hate to be so abrupt, but we'd better get going. I don't know how long it'll take to gather up the others, but..."

Alan was cut off as a woman pushed her way through the crowd, running up to Stripe and throwing her arms around his neck. She sobbed and kissed the man, who looked absolutely mortified over the display of affection. "For pete's sake, Helga, will you get a hold of yourself?" Stripe pleaded as he tried to pry her off.

"I see you've been, um...busy," Alan said. "Are you going to introduce me to your new girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Stripe replied, blushing. "This is all a big misunderstanding. From what I can piece together, I bear a decent resemblance to this lady's husband...only he's been dead for a few years. So I guess they think I'm him returned from Valhalla or wherever." He nodded towards the blond-haired man. "Jon's the only one I've been able to convince otherwise, which was no mean feat, considering the language barrier."

Helga let go of Stripe long enough to position herself between him and Alan, speaking to the Green Lantern in a harsh tone. "Judging by the way she's acting, she must figure I've come to take you back there," he said.

"Well, she's not exactly far-off, is she?" Stripe gently took hold of Helga by the shoulders and turned her around, saying, "I'm sorry, but I've gotta go with him. I don't belong here, don't you understand that?" It was obvious that Helga didn't, as she laid her hands on either side of Pat's face and gave him a long, deep kiss, then wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I'm really sorry..."

Jon had stood silently by during all this, and though he couldn't speak English, he could read the situation well enough. He leaned close to Helga and spoke to her in soft tones, gesturing first towards Alan, then in the direction the Green Lantern had flown in from, until the woman loosened her grip on Stripe. Jon spoke to her for a moment more, then she departed, albeit slowly.

"Thanks, Jon," Stripe said to him, then looked at Alan. "I guess that's it, then. We'd better get going before..." He stopped as the Viking put a hand on his chest, saying something that was totally lost on him. "What now?" Pat said.

"I think I know." Alan pointed off the way Helga had gone -- she'd returned now with a sword and leather shield, both of which had seen their fair share of battle. She approached Stripe and, though her reluctance was obvious, held the weapons out towards him. "If I remember my Norse mythology properly," Alan said, "in Valhalla, they fight all day and drink all night. Your friends here want to make sure you're well-prepared."

"But I'm not..." Stripe started to say, then he saw the look in Helga's eyes. "Okay, I'll take them...but only to make you happy," he said to her. He tucked the sword beneath the belt on his uniform and slipped the shield over his arm, muttering, "I feel ridiculous doing this."

"Just think of them as really big souvenirs," Alan said with a smirk. "I hope the rest of the Soldiers landed up in as good of hands as you did."

"You mean you don't now where they are? You don't know if..." He let the thought go unfinished. "We've gotta go after Sylvester next. The Nebula Man banged him up pretty good before..."

"We've already got somebody on it, trust me." He slipped an arm around Stripe's waist and began to lift off. "We'd better not dawdle any longer. I'm not sure how much time is passing between now and where we're going, but if Fate's correct, we're gonna need every minute we've got."

As they flew overhead, the Vikings drew their weapons and let out a shout, a fitting salute to a fellow warrior. Pat waved a hand to them, his eyes going to Jon, who was comforting Helga. "I wish I could've made her understand," he said to Alan.

"At least she'll take comfort in thinking her husband's going to Valhalla."

"Yeah...yeah, I guess that's not such a bad thing." As they neared the spot where the Green Lantern had materialized, a glowing portal in the shape of an ankh began to appear. "Of course, we really _are_ heading towards an endless fight, aren't we?"

"That we are." The portal's light reached out to engulf them. "And if we survive this, I promise that the first round of beers is on me."

* * *

Katar Hol looked about the wooded glade that Fate's magic had deposited him in, wondering just where in Earth's past he could possibly be, and how long the search would take before he found the hero known as the Shining Knight. Then he heard shouts and the sound of clashing swords coming from the east...not to mention the flapping of great wings. One could not grow up on Thanagar without becoming familiar with that sound. Spreading his own wings, Katar flew up above the trees and found Sir Justin standing in the middle of a rutted dirt road that lay not far from the glade. The knight was facing off on foot against a half-dozen men -- Roman centurions, if Katar recalled his study of Earth military history correctly -- while nearby, two other men had managed to secure a rope around the knight's horse, Winged Victory, and were attempting to keep it grounded as it beat its wings furiously.

Katar tucked his wings back and went into a dive. One of the Romans spotted him and called a warning to his fellow men, but it came too late as Katar's mace clanged against a centurion's helmet, knocking him flat. The remaining Romans now found their attention split between two fierce warriors, but they pressed on in their assault, even as they began to falter beneath the blows wrought by winged newcomer. Eventually, the Romans realized that their superior numbers were no match for the heroes' skill, and began to retreat, the two centurions charged with holding Winged Victory abandoning their task and following close behind.

As the Romans ran off, Sir Justin waved his sword in their general direction and shouted at them in a language that sounded vaguely like English to Katar, but many of the words were unfamiliar to him. Once he'd gotten all that anger out of his system, the knight turned to Katar, saying, "Forgive my outburst, Carter, but encountering those addle-pated Roman dogs stirred my blood up. Their kind had nearly been crushed in my day, and I certainly did not relish seeing them once more."

Katar was about to ask what Sir Justin was referring to, since he thought the Roman Empire had fallen long before the 20th Century, when he realized the man had addressed him by his father's name. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but...I'm not Carter Hall," he said, and removed the mask covering his head. "I'm his son, Katar Hol."

"Truly? When I first saw thee, I thought that Carter has merely changed his costume, as he has done before." He looked the Hawk-Knight up and down. "His _son_, thou sayeth?" Katar nodded, and Sir Justin let out a sigh. "Once more, it seems that Time has decided to have its way with me. I presume that the era thou comes from is not the one I left but a few hours ago?"

"It's 2008 now...about sixty years later. I'm sorry, but I don't think there's any way for us to bring you or the other Soldiers back to the time you came from."

"In all truth, the land hither lies closer to my true time than the one we shall be returning to." Sir Justin went over to Winged Victory and removed the rope the centurions had tried to bind it with, then said, "But it matters little to me now. I long ago laid to rest my old life at Camelot, and have made a home in thy future with my lady Danette. So long as she is by my side, the time around us is of no consequence." He mounted up, and his horse immediately took wing. "Lead on, Katar, son of Carter! Show me the way back to my lady fair and my friends in arms!"

Slipping his mask back into place, Katar flew up and began to head over the trees once again, the Shining Knight following close behind as the portal opened up for them.

* * *

_Well, Cyril, you said you wanted to be involved...maybe next time, you'll be more careful what you wish for._ Speed Saunders sat up, brushing bits of straw from his hair. Doctor Fate's magic had hit him so fast that, by the time he'd realized what had happened, he was flying headlong into God-knows-where before coming to a sudden stop in what appeared to be a large stable. Luckily, there had been no one present to witness his arrival, save for some horses, which were nickering nervously as he climbed to his feet. "Don't worry, I come in peace," he told them, then headed for the stable door.

As Speed stepped out into the bright sunshine, he didn't notice the man in a flannel shirt and jeans leaning against the stable wall just a couple feet away. The man glanced up briefly from the newspaper he was reading, then did a double-take upon seeing Speed exit the stable. "How in blazes did you get inside there?" he asked.

"It wasn't easy," Speed replied. Looking about, he was surprised to find the stable was located off a paved street...not the best-paved street, mind you, but judging by the buildings he could see just a block away, it was near a well-developed section of town. "But which town is it? And when?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know who you are, mister," the man said, ignoring Speed's musings, "but if'n you messed with them horses any, I'm gonna skin you alive." He tossed down his paper, then shoved past Speed and headed inside the stable.

"Is that any way to treat a tourist?" He picked up the paper and scanned the masthead, saying, "_The Opal Daily Mirror_...well, at least it's a place I'm familiar with." Then he took a look at the date. "1895...not bad, Greg. Between your revolvers and your Vigilante getup, you could keep a decently low profile. I just hope it's not _too_ low." Speed dropped the paper where the man had left it, then headed towards what looked like the busier end of the street. As he got closer, he could see horse-drawn carriages making their way down the thoroughfare, along with many people passing by on foot. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he began to move along with the crowd, hoping that no one gave his khaki pants and cable-knit sweater a second glance...though he was sure that, if anybody looked down and got an eyeful of his Nike sneakers, there'd be some explaining to do. _Then don't give them any reason to look_, he told himself. _Keep your head down until you find Greg, then grab him and scram before anybody notices._

The big question was where to start looking. Speed knew that, even in 1895, Opal City was pretty big, and he had no clue as to how long his cousin had been there so far. According to Doctor Fate, Speed should have arrived not long after Greg, but "not long" can be a relative term -- minutes, hours, possibly even days might have already passed between them. As he walked down the street, he kept his eyes on every man he passed, hoping for a glimpse of the Vigilante's distinctive togs, but there wasn't a trace of him to be found. Then after a few blocks, Speed recognized one of the establishments nearby as The Peacock, one of the fancier restaurants to be found in modern-day Opal City. At the close of the 19th Century, however, it appeared to still have the status of saloon, albeit a high-class one. Speed took its presence as a good omen and decided to head inside.

A dark mahogany bar with brass fixtures dominated The Peacock's main room, and through the dim glow of the gaslights, Speed could see small tables lining the walls, many of them currently occupied. Unfortunately, Greg was nowhere to be found. _That doesn't mean he hasn't been in here at some point, though,_ Speed thought. _Time to start plying that old Saunders charm._ He made his way over to the bar and caught the attention of the man behind it. "Excuse me, but I'm looking for somebody. I was wondering if maybe you've seen him."

"I see lots of folks in here," the bartender replied. "What's he look like?"

Speed was about to begin describing his cousin when a patron a few feet down the bar yelled, "Hey, Jimmy! I need 'nother whiskey o'er here!"

"Forget it, Morris, you're pickled enough," the bartender barked back. "Go on home and sleep some of that off first."

"Don't you tell me what t'do." Morris stumbled towards their end of the bar, his eyes locked on the bartender. "I got money, so's you keep makin' with the booze, y'hear?" He tried to wave a fist at the man, but only succeeded in losing his balance and nearly fell on top of Speed. "Hey, you watch where you're goin', old man!"

"Where I'm going is nowhere fast, if you don't stop interrupting." Speed placed his hands on the drunk's shoulders in an effort to steady him. "Just let me finish my business and..."

"Get your paws off!" Morris gave Speed a good shove, knocking him into a nearby table. The patrons sitting there got up in a hurry as their drinks splashed everywhere, and one of them yelled for somebody to get the sheriff.

_Oh, great,_ Speed thought. _The last thing I need to do is to explain myself to a lawman._ He straightened himself up and said to the drunk, "Mister, if I wasn't already preoccupied, I'd clean your damn clock. But things being what they are, I'm gonna let you slide on this one, okay?" Speed soon realized that the amicable approach was the wrong one to take with this guy, because the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back in a puddle of spilled booze, with Morris the drunk right on top of him, readying another blow. _Well now, isn't this just jim-dandy?_ Speed thought, and immediately slammed his own fist into the drunk's jaw, knocking him silly.

The two men traded a few more blows before the sheriff and one of his deputies showed up. The sheriff was a tall, broad-shouldered man with long gray hair, and he easily inserted himself between the brawlers, saying, "Okay, you two, fun's over." Once he had them separated, he turned towards the bartender. "Which one started it, Jimmy?"

"Morris, same as always. He done got sloshed again, and when I cut him off, he started to take it out on that old fella."

The sheriff scowled at the drunk man. "We had an agreement: you can come in here for a couple belts, but when Jimmy says you're done, then _you're done_. You can't learn that, I'll lock you up until you do."

As Morris and the sheriff argued over the finer points of their agreement, Speed tried to slip out the saloon door unnoticed. Before he could reach it, however, the deputy grabbed him by the collar and said, "Sorry, old-timer. I know you ain't the cause of this fracas, but it'd still be proper if you hang around 'til Sheriff Savage has a talk with you."

Speed began to ready an excuse about how he needed to catch a train, but as he turned to face the deputy, he soon abandoned it in favor of a slack-jawed expression. The man before him was dressed in a white shirt with a dark vest and trousers, not too dissimilar from what the sheriff was wearing, but it wasn't the clothes that had left Speed speechless so much as it was the deputy's face...a face which, unless Speed was going senile, looked nearly twice as old as he remembered. "Greg?" he finally managed to say, staring at his cousin's salt-and-pepper hair. "Is that...you can't be..."

"Are you okay, mister? You look like you're gonna faint."

"No, I'm fine, it's just..." Speed leaned close and said, "Greg, it's me. It's Cyril. Doctor Fate sent me back in time to get you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know who..." He stopped talking as Speed's words sank into his brain, then all the color began to drain out of Greg Saunders's face, until _he_ looked like the one about to pass out. Speed reached out to steady him, just as he'd done with the drunk earlier, and Greg stared down at the hands touching his shoulders in disbelief. "You're really here," he said quietly. "After waiting so many years, I'd just about written it off as a lost cause, but _you're really here_..."

"_Years?_ But Fate said that..." Speed then recalled that the mystic had still been in the process of casting the spell when the Neh Buh Lah attacked. _Between that and me getting zapped instead of Jay, the timing must've gotten fouled up_, he thought. _I suppose I should count myself lucky that I made it back here at all._

"Everything okay, Saunders?" Both men looked up at the sound of their shared surname to see the sheriff approaching them. He took in the sight of the two of them standing so close together, then said, "Do you know this guy or something?"

"He's my cousin," Greg replied in that same quiet tone, then paused a moment and started laughing -- not a laugh born of humor, but one of relief. He turned away from Speed and yelled to the patrons still inside the saloon, "You hear that, everybody? This here's my cousin from back home! _I'm finally goin' home!_"

The sheriff turned to Speed, saying, "Is he serious? Did you really come all the way from the future to take him back?"

Speed's eyes nearly fell out of his head. "You _know_ he's from the _future_?"

"Of course he knows. All my friends do." Greg had composed himself again, though the joy of the moment was still dancing in his eyes. "Maybe not all of them believed me, but I told them anyhow. Kept me from losin' my mind all these years."

"I'm sorry about that, Greg," his cousin said, "but we didn't know where you were, not until a few hours ago."

"That's what I always figured...and there ain't no need to apologize. I had a lot of lonely times, but I had a lot of good times too." He grinned at the sheriff. "Remember that stunt me and Lash pulled when we was fightin' the Iron Thugs?"

"Do I? Lord, I thought for sure you fellas were gonna get yourselves killed!" The two men laughed, belying the implied danger of times past, as well as making Speed feel like the odd man out. Then the sheriff gestured towards the back of the saloon, saying, "What say the three of us take a seat and knock back a few before you all disappear? If I have to lose one of my best men, I'd rather be drunk enough not to mind."

"No can do," Speed told him. "When I left our time, the man who sent me was being attacked by the same creature that chucked Greg back here in the first place. I don't want to know what'll happen to him if we waste too much time getting home."

Greg had gone pale again. "You mean the Nebula Man survived that blast too? What about everybody else? What about Stuff? Do you know where he is?"

"Stuff's okay, don't worry about him right now. Let's just concentrate on getting you home." Speed walked out of The Peacock and began to head back down the street, with Greg and Sheriff Savage close behind. "I popped out of a stable just a couple blocks away," he explained. "If we can get back inside, there should be a portal waiting."

"Couple blocks...sounds like Grant's Livery," Greg said, then suddenly turned around and started running towards the other end of the street, yelling over his shoulder, "I'll meet you fellas there! I'm gonna go fetch my gear!"

Speed protested, but the sheriff cut him off, saying, "He's waited twenty years for you to show up. The least you can do is give him five minutes."

The two men continued down the street, making their way back to the stable and, just as Speed feared, the still-angry owner. "Sheriff, I want you to arrest that man!" he said, pointing at Speed. "He done broke into my livery and...well, I don't know what he was doin' in there, but I don't like the look of him."

"This fella's just fine, Grant, trust me. He just got a little lost is all." Savage hitched thumb behind him and said, "Why don't you take a walk around the block and cool off? We'll talk it over when you get back." It didn't look like Grant was going to oblige him at first, but then the stable owner muttered something under his breath and started walking. Once he was out of sight, the two men stepped into the stable. "I don't see any portal. Do you have some sort of gadget that turns it on?" the sheriff asked.

"It won't show up until Greg gets here." Speed cocked an eyebrow. "Y'know, sheriff, you seem to be taking this whole time-travel thing pretty casually."

"Call me Brian...and if I seem casual about the whole affair, it's because you and Greg aren't the only future-folk I've ever met. First time was the summer of '78, back in my Scalphunter days...and believe you me, that was no cakewalk." He scratched at his graying beard, saying, "Met Greg about two years afterward, so between that and a few other things I'd seen by then, his tale didn't sound all that far-fetched to me."

He stopped talking as something thumped on the outside of the stable. The two men turned to see Greg leaning against the doorway and breathing heavy, a rifle in one hand and a large knapsack slung over his shoulder. "That's settles it, I've gotta drop a few pounds," he gasped, then stepped into the stable proper. Just as he crossed the threshold, a shaft of golden light began to form near the back wall, spreading out until it formed a large ankh. Greg blinked and said, "Guess that's the way home."

"It better be." Speed shook hands with the sheriff. "Nice meeting you, Brian. Sorry for disrupting things around here for a bit."

"Don't worry about it. Just another typical day in Opal City." The sheriff then turned to Greg, saying, "And you...dammit, I'm gonna miss you." He smiled broadly.

"I'll miss you too. Jesus, I never thought leavin' this place would be so hard, but..." Greg threw his free arm around Savage for a moment, telling him, "You give Annie and your boy each a kiss goodbye from me, okay?"

"I will...now get your ass on home before they decide they don't want you back."

They laughed together one last time before Greg turned away from his friend and walked over to the portal. "You ready to do this?" Speed asked.

He looked at his cousin, cocking the rifle in his hands -- after two decades of dealing frontier justice, it was the only answer the Vigilante felt necessary. Then the two of them stepped towards the portal and let it carry them far away from the 19th Century.

* * *

Slate tiles clattered beneath Batman's boots as he tired to get his footing on the roof. It was nighttime, with a full moon shining overhead, illuminating the vast countryside all around the manor house he found himself perched upon. _Presumably, if Fate deposited me here, then Firebrand must be inside_, he thought, and started to make his way towards a window set into one of the nearby gables. As he skirted the edge of the roof, he could hear voices coming up from below, which made him pause. It wasn't so much out of fear of discovery, but more because of the harsh tones being used. Crouching in the gable's shadow, Batman peered down to see a crowd gathered before the front door -- some bore torches or colonial-style tin lanterns, while others were brandishing muskets and sharp farm implements. _This doesn't look good,_ he thought.

"You cannot hide the witch forever, Tobias!" shouted a man dressed in Puritanical garb. "Even one of your own servants told us of her presence!" He pointed to a young woman with bruises on her face being held fast by other members of the crowd.

"I do not deny the presence of a stranger in my house," another man (presumably Tobias) replied. Batman couldn't see him, and figured that he must have been standing within the doorway directly below. "I do, however, refuse to submit to the lunacy that has overtaken my fellow countrymen as of late. She is no witch, and neither threatening myself nor my servants with bodily harm shall change that."

"He is in league with the witch!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Kill them both!" At that, the crowd began to surge forward, an angry murmur rippling through them. Before they could get their hands on Tobias, however, great clouds of smoke suddenly appeared before them as Batman let loose with a handful of teargas pellets. Many fell to their knees, coughing and crying, unable to comprehend what was going on. Then they saw Batman himself drop down off the roof, his cape billowing out behind him, and the situation became quite clear to the colonials.

"The Devil..._the Devil has come for us all!_" a man shouted, and full-on panic seized the crowd. They nearly trampled each other in an effort to get away from the house, weapons and illumination dropped everywhere in their haste. Even the servant girl was forgotten, and she lay on the ground curled up in a ball, sure that she would be dead within moments. Batman, of course, had no intentions of hurting her as he knelt down beside her, trying to make sure she was all right once the mob had fully dispersed.

"What a superstitious, cowardly lot," a voice behind him said, and Batman looked to see Tobias still standing in the doorway, calm as could be. "They claim to be doing God's work, but the moment they come face-to-face with their proclaimed enemy, their sense of duty vanishes." He tilted his head at the Dark Knight. "Not that I believe you to be an agent of Satan, dear sir, despite your appearance. I take it you have come to claim the woman who calls herself Firebrand?"

"You're quite correct," Batman said. He moved aside as Tobias came over and calmed down his servant, helping her to her feet -- despite his reassurances, the girl clung to her master for dear life. "I'm sorry that our presence has brought all this trouble to your doorstep, literally."

"Doomsbury Hall has seen its share of grief before, sir, due to the sheer ignorance of my neighbors." He began to walk towards the house with the girl, Batman following behind. "They tend to see logic and reason as the work of the Devil, and for that, my family has always been shunned to some degree or another. Luckily, my desire to better understand the world led me to investigate the fiery object that descended upon us three nights ago, while the people you just drove off cowered beneath their beds in fear of the 'bad omen'." Once they were inside the house, Tobias talked softly to his servant for a moment, then sent her to her quarters to rest before continuing. "As I'm sure you can surmise, your compatriot was the source of the conflagration, and I spirited her back here so that she could recover from her ordeal." The man went over to an innocuous-looking wall and took hold of a candleholder attached to it, pulling it out and turning it to the left at the same time. A portion of the wall swung open slightly as he did so. He turned to Batman and explained, "As I said before, my neighbors are not the most learned people, so I have found it necessary to take extreme measures when it comes to safeguarding certain possessions." He swung the rest of the wall aside, revealing a hidden library. Books and other esoteric objects lined the shelves, and standing in the middle of the room were Firebrand and another woman, both of whom looked at Batman with surprise when he entered behind Tobias.

"Are they gone?" the woman asked, concern plain to see on her face as she went to the man's side. "We could hear such a commotion..."

"The danger has passed, my love," Tobias told her, "thanks to the intervention of Danette's compatriot."

Firebrand approached Batman, saying, "I'm glad for that. I've recovered most of my strength by now, but I still didn't relish the idea of possibly having to defend myself from an angry mob." Then she leaned close so the others wouldn't hear and said to him, "Forgive me for sounding ungrateful, but your costume's not ringing any bells in my memory. Did the JSA send you?"

"This mission is sort of a joint effort," Batman replied, just as quiet. Now didn't seem like a good time to go into the fact that she'd been lost for six decades. He then looked over at Danette's rescuers and said, "We'd better get going before those people get their nerve back and try to break into the house."

Tobias shook his head. "I doubt that they will. In fact, I dare say that your sudden appearance upon my doorstep this evening may keep the zealots at bay for a while, out of fear that you might descend upon them once more should they return."

"Still, you should be careful," Firebrand said. "As a matter of fact, it may be better if you and your wife moved away from here. Even in my time, they remember the brutality of the witch trials."

"I appreciate you concern, my dear, but Tobias Thirteen will never let the unfounded hysteria of his fellow man drive him from his own house." He took hold of his wife's hand and said, "We shall weather whatever storm may come, safe in the knowledge that truth shall always prevail over superstition."

Batman nodded in agreement, thinking that it was people like Tobias who would eventually put a stop to the witch trials, though not before those grim times had made their mark upon history. With the master of the house leading the way once more, Firebrand and Batman went back outside to see a golden ankh shining bright over Doomsbury Hall. "Doctor Fate," Danette said upon seeing it. "I should have guessed."

"We'll need to get up on the roof to access the portal." Batman unclipped his grappling gun from his belt and was about to slip an arm around Danette's waist, but stopped when he saw the flaming aura already forming around her. She lit up the night sky with a fiery trail as she ascended, and the Dark Knight shot a line up to the roof, the portal's light enveloping both of them the moment his boots touched the slate tiles again.

* * *

"God, this place _stinks_," Hal Jordan muttered, his voice muffled from his gloved hand pressing over his mouth and nose. Doctor Fate's magic had dropped him off in the middle of a filthy alley, though he hadn't determined yet where exactly that alley was located. He cautiously stepped over refuse as he headed towards the street -- he could have just flown over it with no trouble, but until he knew where he was, he didn't want to attract attention to himself with any unnecessary displays of emerald energy. As he neared the mouth of the alley, he could hear indistinct voices speaking in what sounded like English accents. "Well, at least I've got that going for me," he said, and peered out onto the street. It was around dusk, and there weren't many people about, but he saw enough to peg that he must have landed around the Victorian era. Picking out one decently-dressed man walking by, Hal made his ring scan the man's clothes, then replaced his Green Lantern uniform with a close approximation of them, albeit in shades of dark green and black. Suitably camouflaged, Hal stepped out into the street and began to take a better look around.

Like the alleyway, the gutters of the street were strewn with filth, and some of the people lingering in doorways didn't look much better. A couple of nearby women in short, dark jackets and patched skirts eyed him as he walked by -- he thought at first that their stares were because he was a stranger to the area, then he caught the coquettish look one gave him, and the matter became a little clearer. "Not tonight, ladies," he said to them as he turned the corner onto another street, a sign on a nearby building telling him that he was now on Whitechapel Road. Something about the name caught his attention, and he stood there for a moment, trying to figure out why it sounded so familiar. When it hit him, he said aloud, "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," then backed up into a deserted doorway and whispered, "Ring, scan the area for the nearest police station."

After a few seconds, the ring replied, just as quietly, _{Two blocks east of current position.}_

"Can you tell if there's anyone inside who fits the description of the Crimson Avenger?" Hal asked, and the ring quickly confirmed his suspicions. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry about the situation, Hal hotfooted it down the street in the direction indicated until he came to a large brick building, a trio of uniformed officers walking up the steps confirming to Hal that this was the place. He stepped out of sight for a moment and emerged seconds later in a ring-generated replica of a policeman's uniform, then headed up into the building himself. Following the directions his ring whispered in his ear, Hal made his way deep into the police station, doing his best to act like he belonged there whenever he passed by a real officer -- luckily for him, he didn't see too many, and if his assumptions were correct, he knew exactly why that was.

Hal eventually reached the lower level where the cells were located, with a bored-looking officer sitting at a desk just outside the area. The man glanced at his pocket watch when he saw Hal, then said, "Bit early for the shift change...you new here?"

"Just transferred in," Hal replied, doing his best cockney accent. He then nodded towards the cell area, saying, "So...are the rumors true, then? Do we really got..."

"Cor, keep your voice down! You never know if those reporters from the bloody _Police News_ are mucking about." The officer got up from the desk and walked over the way Hal had entered, checking to see if anyone was there. Once he was assured they were alone, he said, "We don't have a whit of evidence yet, but yeah, they picked up this odd fellow over on Bucks Row early this morning, not far from where they found that Nichols girl. An American, and dressed all natty like the descriptions say...had a cloak and everything. He couldn't give us a fit enough reason what he was doing out there, and the orders say to bring in anyone who can't account for himself, so..."

"Can I see him?"

The officer shrugged. "Not much to see, he just lays on his cot and groans. Says he's sick, but I think he's playing for sympathy." He led Hal down the rows of cells to one that contained a man in a crisp white shirt and dark pants, his head hanging low as he sat on the metal cot. "Oi! Look alive, you!" the officer said as he banged on the bars. "One of the boys wants to have a proper look!" The man lifted his head, and Hal could see beads of sweat standing out on his pale face. "There you go," the officer continued. "Wouldn't think he was a murderer to look at him, would you?"

"I thought you said he had a fancy cloak?" Hal asked.

"All that's locked up by the desk. Had some odd pistols on him too...not about to let him sit around in a cell armed, right?"

"Right...and thanks for letting me know where you stashed his stuff," Hal said, dropping the phony accent. "Saves me the time searching for it."

The officer stared at him. "What's this about? Are you a bloody American too?"

"Hate to break it to you, but...yeah." A bolt of green energy shot out of Hal's ring, stunning the officer, and the Green Lantern caught him before he could fall to the floor. He then looked at the man in the cell and said, "Please tell me you're not really Jack the Ripper."

"No more than you're really a cop," Crimson Avenger replied, slowly getting to his feet. "I see the ring, but you don't look like the Green Lantern I know."

"Guess you could call me a distant relation." After setting the officer down gently, he used the ring to pop the lock on the cell. "Come on, let's get your things and get the Hell out of here." They headed back towards the desk, where Hal spied a heavy metal chest against one side of it. As he set to work on opening it, he heard Crimson cry out behind him -- when Hal turned around, he saw the man falling to his knees, a hand clutching at his back and his teeth clenched in agony. "Ring, what's wrong with him?" he said as he went to Crimson Avenger's side.

_{Cancerous tumors present throughout lung tissue and in surrounding areas, pressing against nerves in spinal cord,} _the ring told him dryly.

That was the last thing Green Lantern expected to hear. He figured that the police had roughed Crimson up before putting him in the cell, but this... "Is there...can you do anything to help him?" Hal asked his ring.

_{Negative. Diseased tissue is too widespread. Chance of survival is minimal.}_

"Pills..." Lee gasped, reaching out towards the metal chest. "In c-coat..." Without leaving the man's side, Green Lantern ordered his ring to pry open the chest and find the pills in question. Moments later, an emerald hand deposited a small pillbox into Crimson's shaking palm. He shook three out and dry-swallowed them, then leaned heavily against Hal as he waited from them to take effect. "Been begging for those all day," Lee said after a while. "I can deal with the pain for a short period of time, but it started to flare up during the fight, and-d-d..." He paused, a shudder running through him. When it passed, he swore under his breath and said, "Kind of glad now that you're not Alan...hate for any of my friends to see me like this."

"How long have you known, if you don't mind me asking?"

"About six months, maybe eight. I'd been having pains in my back and chest for years, but you know how it is in this line of work: You ignore the pain and go on. I did start to cut back after the War, but I never thought that..." Crimson straightened up, but didn't attempt to get to his feet just yet. "After the doctor broke the news to me, I decided that I wasn't going to tell anybody. I didn't want people crying over me like I was already dead, and I certainly didn't want to end up in a hospital with a bunch of tubes stuck in me. So I figured I'd tough it out, take the painkillers when it got too bad...and when it got so that the painkillers couldn't cut it anymore, I'd just take more than the doctor prescribed, if you get my meaning."

Hal didn't know how to reply to that. Instead, he told Lee, "We'd better get out of here before anyone else comes down." He helped the man to his feet, then stood silently by as the Crimson Avenger donned the rest of his costume -- it was obvious that Crimson was still in pain, but he seemed determined to not relapse. As the man was checking his guns, the sound of footsteps echoed towards the cellblock, and Hal recalled that the officer had said something earlier about a shift change. _Looks like we won't get away as clean as I was hoping,_ he thought, then looked over at Crimson. Despite the man's determination, Hal knew that Lee might fall behind as they made a break for it, so he dropped his disguise and let his Green Lantern uniform manifest again. "Just hold on tight," he said as he wrapped an arm around Crimson's waist, then ordered the ring to retrace the path back to the alley.

All the policeman coming down the hall saw of their exit was a blaze of green light. He'd been too stunned by the sight to make out the two men engulfed within it, as were the other officers who caught a glimpse of the emerald apparition that flew out of the station house and down the road. A few of them had the presence of mind to follow, but when they reached the small alley off Plumber Street, all they saw was a fading golden glow shaped vaguely like a cross.

* * *

"Holy...!" Wildcat stumbled backwards as a horse reared up in front of him, the heavily-armed warrior on its back cursing in what sounded like Chinese at the man's sudden appearance. Ted did his best to get clear before he was trampled, but there was no place safe to go: everywhere he turned, he saw more mounted warriors galloping around, as well as numerous foot soldiers. Some were dressed in ancient feudal armor, while others sported furs and leathers. _Great, it looks like I got dumped into the middle of a war zone,_ he thought, then delivered a right cross to the jaw of one of the nearby soldiers, who was about to try and cleave him in two with his sword. "Spider! Where are you?" Ted shouted, scanning the surrounding mob for anyone that looked even vaguely Caucasian. He didn't find anyone fitting the bill, but he did find quite a few soldiers that wanted to add his body to the ones already sprawled out on the muddy ground. Luckily, he was a lot faster with his fists than they were with their weapons, and a steady stream of roundhouse blows began to clear a path through them. "Dammit, Tom," he yelled after he'd knocked down close to a dozen men, "will you quit screwing around and get your ass out here where I can see you!"

Someone behind him let out a war cry, and Wildcat spun around to see a warrior running pell-mell after him, a pike of some sort in his hands. He avoided the blade, but the warrior switched up his attack and bashed Ted in the head with the pole end. He fell over, stunned, and the warrior moved to impale him, but before he could deliver the killing blow, the shaft of an arrow pierced his throat. The surprised warrior fell over himself, revealing to Ted a familiar, if disheveled, form. "Good timing there, Tom," he said as Spider helped him to his feet.

"You're just lucky I found a dead archer that still had a full quiver," he replied. "I wasted what few arrows I had left within five minutes of arriving here." He paused as a more warriors rushed towards them -- a couple haymakers and a few twangs of bowstring later, Tom said, "Sorry that blast didn't dump me in a friendlier location."

"Are you kidding? This is like a typical Saturday night at Findley's Pub." Wildcat looked in the direction he'd come from. "The real bugger is going to be fighting our way back to where Fate dropped me off. If we can't reach it, we'd better start learning Chinese."

"Actually, I think they're Mongolian."

"To-_may_-to, to-_mah_-to," Wildcat quipped, then grabbed a handful of reins away from a passing mounted soldier. After wrestling the man out of the saddle, Ted climbed onto the horse, saying, "C'mon, I hailed us a cab."

Spider mounted up behind him, nocking an arrow to aid in clearing the path. It wasn't necessary, as the stampeding horse was enough to make the throng of warriors step out of their way. As they approached the spot, a golden ankh appeared in the middle of the battlefield, causing some of the men nearby to cry out in a mixture of surprise and terror. In Wildcat's case, the sight of it just made him goad the horse into moving faster. "Um, Ted, shouldn't we be slowing down? We're gonna plow right into it," Tom said.

"If we slow down, we'll more than likely get mobbed again," Ted replied.

"You mean you're gonna..."

"Well. I'm gonna _try_, at least. Now hang on, and pray that this horse doesn't get skittish easily!" He steered the animal directly towards the portal, forging ahead at a breakneck pace until the light from the portal seemed to reach out for them, sweeping the two heroes and their mount away from the raging battle.

* * *

Snow seemed to pelt the Man of Steel from every direction, which concerned him. Not that the cold bothered him in the least, but according to Daniel Leong's story, the Star-Spangled Kid had suffered injuries before he'd been tossed into the past, and the young man more than likely wasn't in good enough shape to handle such harsh conditions. _All the more reason to find him as fast as I can_, Superman thought, then flew straight up from where he'd materialized. Once he reached a good height, he swept the area with his x-ray vision for any sign of color in this white landscape, as well as straining his super-hearing to catch the sound of a heartbeat above the howling wind. He soon zeroed in on a red-white-and-blue form huddled in a cave about fifty feet from his position, and he rushed over to investigate.

As he expected, it was the Star-Spangled Kid, tucked far down into the cave in an effort to escape the frigid winds outside. Next to his still form was a pitiful fire, which the young man had somehow managed to light using his mask as kindling. It wasn't enough to keep him warm, though: his dark hair was rimed with frost, and his lips were beginning to turn blue. Worse yet, his breathing was shallow, and Superman could barely pick up his heartbeat, even standing next to him. _Hypothermia's setting in_, he thought as he removed his cape and wrapped it around the Kid. _I've got to get him warmed up, and fast._ Looking around the cave, he saw a ledge of bare rock jutting out of the cave wall, so he carried Sylvester over to it and laid him out. Superman then focused his heat vision on the base of the rock until it began to glow a dull red -- the heat soon radiated throughout the rock, providing the young man some relief from the cold, as well as bringing a small amount of light into the darkened cave. After making sure there were no signs of frostbite, Superman carefully massaged the Kid's stiff limbs in an effort to get the blood flowing again. _He'd be better off in a hospital right now_, the Man of Steel thought as he watched for any signs of consciousness, _but I have a feeling that we won't have any time for such luxuries once we go through the portal back to 2008, so I've got to make sure he's ready before we get there._

The Kid's heartbeat began to grow stronger, and soon, he took in a large gulp of air, followed by a groan and a string of coughs. His eyes seemed to be moving behind his still-closed lids, and Superman leaned over him and said, "Can you hear me, Kid? If you can, give me some kind of sign. Show me that you're all right."

In response, Sylvester shakily raised a hand and laid it against Superman's well-muscled arm. Moments later, the young man's eyes opened halfway, and he looked up at his rescuer bathed in the red glow from the heated rock. "Cap'n Marvel?" he slurred out.

"No, but thanks for the compliment. My name is Superman. Your friends in the Justice Society sent me here to find you."

The Star-Spangled Kid smiled weakly. "Stuff came through for us...good kid. He's a..." His eyelids started to droop, then they snapped back open. "Hard...it's hard to stay awake," he said. "Cold here..."

"I know. We'll be in a much warmer place soon, but first, I need to know if you'll be okay. Can you stand up?"

"I'll try." Holding onto Superman, he slid off the rock ledge and stood on his own two feet, albeit with a sharp hiss of air coming from between his lips. "Think I broke some ribs," he said. "Cold numbed it, but now..."

A quick glance with Superman's x-ray vision confirmed the diagnosis, and he replied, "You've got two broken, one fractured. No major internal damage, though. Do you think you can put up with the pain for a while longer?"

The Kid nodded and pulled the cape tighter around himself. "Are we...are we going to go find the others now?"

"They're being looked after already, I promise. Now, let's get you home." He scooped up the Kid and flew out of the cave -- Superman could hear the young man's teeth chattering the moment the wind hit them. "We're almost to the portal, just hang on a few seconds longer."

"W-w-where the heck are we, anyways? Antarctica?"

Suddenly, they heard a loud bellow above the roaring wind. Superman paused in his flight, and in the distance, they saw large, dark shadows moving through the snow. Sylvester couldn't make out anything distinct, but the Man of Steel focused his vision fine enough to see a herd of wooly mammoths trudging along, seemingly oblivious to both the cold and the two men hanging in the air.

"Actually, I think we're a lot further away than Antarctica," Superman finally replied. He turned away from the mammoths and continued towards the portal, shining like a golden beacon above the frozen wasteland.

* * *

_**Somewhere, Somewhen:**_

Do you feel that?

A sense of terrible foreboding, as if an alarm bell were going off deep inside you, telling you that something was going horribly wrong in the universe.

It's not your imagination. It's real.

The world is teetering on the brink, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But don't worry. Other events have been set in motion, a counterbalance to stop this descent into darkness.

So be still. Be quiet. Wait and see.

It will all be over soon...


	6. Part 5

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

**Part 5**

_**2008:**_

_Big as life and twice as ugly._ Jay Garrick couldn't recall where he'd first heard that phrase, but it certainly seemed to apply to the monster before him. The seven smaller creatures that made up Neh Buh Lah had fully integrated once more, and the result now towered about twenty feet over him and Doctor Fate. It still resembled the smaller ones to a degree, but the starry marks that covered its inky-black skin had grown exponentially with its body, to the point where seemed as though the entire universe was mapped out across its massive frame. It tilted its head back and let out a roar, making the marks upon it flare up like supernovas, then it focused its shining-white eyes on the two heroes below, its tongue flicking out from between its needle-like teeth.

"How long until the others get back?" Jay asked Fate.

**I cannot say,** Fate replied. **The journey through time should be instantaneous for them, but from our perspective, there may be a slight delay.**

"Guess we'll just have to keep it busy in the meantime!" The speedster bolted towards the creature, delivering a flurry of blows at its legs in an effort to knock it down, while Fate began to unleash his magic upon it, but neither attack seemed to be having any effect. If fact, the harder Jay pushed himself to make a dent in the creature, the slower he could feel himself moving. He then recalled what Alan said earlier when the Green Lantern had investigated the strange darkness that was blotting out the sun. _It's draining me somehow, just being close to it_, Flash thought. There was something else he noticed as well: voices in the back of his mind, like the gibbering language he'd heard the smaller aspects of Neh Buh Lah speaking in, and it seemed to be growing louder as Jay felt the speed evaporate from his body. He tried to ignore it and press on, but it soon filled his whole mind, pushing out every coherent thought and making him lose control of his own limbs so that he tripped and fell before the creature. Jay struggled to get up, to do anything, but all he could do was scream as the voices penetrated every cell of his being, preparing him to join the greater glory of Neh Buh Lah...

Then a golden light suddenly surrounded him, yanking him away from the monster and over to Doctor Fate's side. "What...what happened?" Jay asked in a shaky voice as he regained control of himself. "Felt like I was being torn apart."

**Without the seven warriors present to oppose it, Neh Buh Lah has begun to force its influence over every living thing upon this Earth. Unless it is stopped, the entire world will unravel and become a part of it, forever enslaved to the whims of Chaos...and that includes you, Jay Garrick.** A twisting ribbon of light sprung forth from the mystic's hands and wrapped around the creature, pinning its arms to its sides momentarily before it snapped them like rubber bands. **Unfortunately, my magicks can only buy you a brief reprieve from that damnation: until it is driven from this realm, Neh Buh Lah's very presence will continue to eat away at you -- mind, body, and soul -- so you must fight against it or you will be lost.**

"I'm trying," the speedster replied. Even as he said the words, he could feel those unearthly voices reverberating throughout his body, as if they were shaking him apart from the inside out. "How the heck are we supposed to stop this thing if it can just wipe us out without a thought?"

**That, Jay Garrick, is why we need the Seven Soldiers of Victory. As the warriors chosen to fight Neh Buh Lah, they are immune to his influence.**

"What about yourself? Don't the Lords of Order give you any sort of immunity?"

**A small measure.** Jay then noticed the beads of sweat rolling down Fate's neck from under his helmet, and he realized that the voices the mystic heard were probably much, _much_ louder.

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, then ripped open as Neh Buh Lah let out a roar. Dirt and rock spewed up all around them, and soon coffins as well were flying out of the growing fissures as the surrounding graves were disinterred. Flash was in motion once again, trying to avoid falling into the fissures, while Fate lifted himself above the destruction. The mystic couldn't completely escape it, however: debris began to swirl about him until he fell back to the ground, cocooned from head to foot within a shell of granite. The speedster immediately rushed to his side and began pounding his fists against the shell at super-speed, but it refused to crack. All the while, the voices in Jay's mind were shrieking so loudly that he soon found he couldn't concentrate on his task. "Shut up! Get out of my head!" he shouted, but it took everything he had just to do so. He could feel himself losing his grip once more, his thoughts drowning under those oppressive voices that were loud enough to make his bones rattle. Through a supreme effort, Jay managed to lift his head so he could look square at the creature...and he found it looking right back at him, grinning with a mouth full of needles. Letting out something akin to a laugh, it reached towards him with a massive clawed hand, and Flash found that he couldn't do so much a twitch a finger to avoid it. Before it could get hold of him, however, there was an explosion of blinding light in the middle of the cemetery. Though there was no visible cause for the light, there was a sound coming from somewhere deep within it: the flapping of wings, followed by a horse's whinny.

"_Have at thee, monster!_" Shining Knight bellowed as he and Winged Victory flew out of the light, his enchanted sword held high. Katar Hol was right behind him, his own weapon at the ready, and the two heroes rushed straight at Neh Buh Lah without hesitation. The creature roared and made to swat them out of the air, but both men evaded the blows, Sir Justin breaking left and Hawkman to the right. They swept around behind it, then struck as one at the back of the creature's head -- both mace and sword found their mark, though only Sir Justin's weapon appeared to make any sort of wound.

With the creature distracted, Jay felt its influence over him abate enough to move again, but his relief over that was soon overtaken by a new concern. "Katar!" he yelled as best he could. "Fall back right now, before it's too late!"

"Not until some of the others arrive!" Katar answered. "We can't expect Shining Knight to do this all on his own!"

"Until the others get here, he's gonna _have _to! Now get down here, that thing can take you out before you even know it!"

Katar ignored the speedster's pleas and pressed on with his attack, pounding on the creature with all the force he could muster...though it seemed like his mace was getting harder to lift with each passing second. Sir Justin didn't appear to be having any trouble, however, landing three blows for every one that Katar managed.

There was another explosion of light within arm's length of the monster, and Jay saw Superman emerge, carrying something human-sized bundled in his cape. "Oh dear God," Jay said at the sight of it, "we were too late..."

The Man of Steel veered away from Neh Buh Lah's grasp, then flew over to Flash, saying, "Watch after him, I don't think he's fully recovered yet." He lowered the bundle to the ground, and Jay was surprised to see Star-Spangled Kid stand on his own two feet. The young man looked rather worse for wear, but he was indeed alive.

"Hi, Jay," Sylvester said weakly, still holding the cape around his shoulders and shivering slightly. "Glad you could join the party."

Had the situation not been so dire, Jay might have laughed. Instead, he took hold of Superman's arm before he could to take to the sky again. "You can't go. It'll kill you...almost killed me a minute ago."

"But we can't just stand by and..." Superman began to say, then saw haggard and drained Jay looked...and then he began to hear the voices buzzing inside his skull.

"That's how it starts," Jay said, knowing just by the look on the Man of Steel's face what was happening. "And if you let your guard down for a even a second, you're done for. Fate said the Soldiers aren't affected, but..." He paused, then turned back to where the mystic still lay entombed in stone. "Dammit! In all the commotion, I almost forgot! Come here and help me!"

As Flash and Superman tried in vain to break Fate free, Katar found himself barely able to stay airborne. He also could swear that he heard voices whispering in his ear. He stopped his attack and hovered in midair, his hands going to his helmet as the whispers became shouts, the words incomprehensible, but at the same time he couldn't resist them. They echoed off the Nth metal in his costume, intensifying each syllable until there was no part of Katar Hol left that wasn't flooded with promise of chaos.

Sir Justin didn't see any of this, as all his attention was focused on driving the Nebula Man to its knees. He slashed at the creature over and over, never backing off for a moment -- just as during the first fight, he knew that it could not be allowed to leave the cemetery, lest it destroy the surrounding city. The knight was raising his sword for another blow when he spied Katar diving towards him. He thought at first that the Hawkman was trying another tactic, then realized that his flight path was taking him on a collision course with Sir Justin himself! He blocked the blow from Katar's mace just in time with his sword, saying, "What madness is this? Cease this folly!" Then he saw the unholy white glow -- exactly like the one given off by Neh Buh Lah -- coming from Katar's eyes. _God save us, the demon has possessed him, _Shining Knight thought, and tried to steer Winged Victory away, but it was no use, as Katar continued come after him with blind ferocity. Sir Justin did his best to parry each attack thrown at him, but he found it increasingly difficult to do so without injuring the Hawk-Knight, who showed none of the flagging strength that he'd been exhibiting minutes earlier. In fact, he appeared to be getting even _stronger_, as evidenced by the bone-rattling impacts his mace made against Shining Knight's blade. "I beseech thee, Katar, _end this_," he said, his attention so tightly focused on the man before him that he didn't see the golden light forming above the cemetery. "If thou does not, I shall have no choice but to kill thee."

Katar didn't answer, he just continued to pound on the man with his mace...until a gout of fire struck Hawkman square in the chest and drove him back. "Get away from my husband!" Firebrand yelled.

Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Sir Justin pulled back sharply on Winged Victory's reins, causing the horse to rear up and strike Katar's helmet with one of its hooves. The blow would have likely killed an ordinary man, but between the Nth metal that made up his helm and his hardy Thanagarian physiology, Katar was merely stunned. He plummeted to the ground, but before he could make impact, the man's body began to twist in the air, and a cry of agony ripped forth from him...then Katar seemed to disintegrate into bright stardust before their very eyes. It held the shape of the Hawk-Knight for a moment before swirling about and flying towards Neh Buh Lah, the starry marks covering it flaring even brighter now as it took the remains of Katar Hol into itself.

Firebrand stared in disbelief, saying, "What in God's name just happened?"

"I do not know...but I _do_ know who is responsible." Shining Knight pulled at his mount's reins again and steered it towards the Nebula Man. A cry of fury came to his lips as he renewed his attack, this time with his wife beside him.

Far below them, Batman was running over to where Flash, Superman, and Star-Spangled Kid were still staring up in mute horror over what they'd just seen. "What's going on here?" Batman asked, calling their attention back to the here-and-now. "Where's Doctor Fate? Did the same thing happen to him?"

"No, he's in there," Jay replied, gesturing towards Fate's stony prison. "Superman and I have been doing our best to free him, but the Nebula Man's got him locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

Batman knelt next to the stone and immediately set to work, examining it for any sort of weakness that might have escaped their attention. Unfortunately, he wasn't finding any. "Don't you have a miniature torch on your belt?" Superman asked after a while. "We might be able to burn through it."

"If your heat vision can't penetrate it, I doubt my torch will," Batman replied.

"Well, we should at least _try_," Jay said to him. "Fate may be a powerful mystic, but he's still a human being, he has to breathe. If we don't get him out soon..."

The Dark Knight suddenly jerked his head up and snapped, "_I know, dammit! _Can't everyone just_ shut up _for a minute?" The outburst took everyone aback for a moment, but when they saw him clap his hands over his ears, they knew what the real problem was.

Superman dropped to his knees next to his old friend, staring straight into the man's eyes. "Don't listen to the voices, Bruce. I know they're loud, I can hear them too, but you've _got_ to fight it off! If anybody can do shake it off, it's you! We _need_ you!"

"No...no, not me..." It sounded like Batman was begging for his life at first, but then he lifted a trembling hand and pointed at Sylvester, saying, "Him...it's him."

"What do you mean?"

"He can...he can crack it...chosen...ch-chuh..." Batman suddenly started thrashing about, screaming in agony...then he turned to stardust as well. Superman could do nothing but sit there, the voices in his own mind becoming deafening, as the stardust blew past him on its way to Neh Buh Lah.

"God, that's three down, and the fight's barely started." Jay looked up at Shining Knight and Firebrand, who continued to strike at the monster. _If it wasn't for the Lords of Order protecting them, they'd probably be down for the count as well, _he thought. Then it hit him. "Chosen...the Soldiers were chosen, they're immune," he said, then turned to Sylvester. "Start pounding rock, Kid."

Sylvester looked flabbergasted. "Are you nuts? I'm still half-frozen, my belt's gone, and you expect me to bust through _that_ barehanded?"

"Flash is right," Superman said, slowly dragging himself away from the madness that now seemed so welcoming. "Fate said only the Soldiers could defeat Neh Buh Lah, so you might be able to counteract anything it throws at us, even this."

"You're crazy, both of you." Despite what he said, the young man knelt down beside Fate's stony cocoon. Without his converter belt, Sylvester's strength wasn't that far above an average man's, so he couldn't fathom how he was supposed to blast through something that resisted both super-speed and super-strength. _I've gotta try, though_. _That's how it's always been in the Law's Legionnaires: You do whatever you can, no matter what the odds._ Focusing his attention on a point dead-center on the stone, he cocked his fist back, and as he did so, he could swear that he felt some force surge out of his heart and up through his arm, driving the cold and pain from his body as it did so. _Adrenaline, that's all_, he thought, and slammed down his fist as hard as he could. He cried out and jerked his hand away after impact, not surprised at all to see blood gushing out from his bare knuckles. The fist-shaped divot he'd left in the rock, however, was _very_ surprising. "It worked...oh my God, how could that have _worked?!?_" he gasped.

"Never mind 'how', just keep doing it!" Jay told him.

As the Kid hammered away, a new portal burst to life, bringing back Stripe and Alan Scott. "Looks like they started the fun without us," Stripe said, taking in the sight of the Nebula Man, then drawing the sword tucked under his belt. "Guess I'll have a chance to try out my souvenirs."

The two men started towards the creature, Alan flying and Pat running, but before the Lantern got anywhere near it, Superman flew over and blocked his path. "I'm sorry, but you've got to stay out of this fight. It's too dangerous."

"I know Fate said this is the Soldiers' responsibility, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't at least help," Alan replied.

"But we _can't_ help! We can't do a damn thing!" Superman yelled, grabbing hold of Alan. "We're _helpless_, don't you understand that? We're..." He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, then said, "It's getting harder to fight this off. Even Bruce couldn't, and he was..." He looked hard at Alan. "Don't let the voices in, or you'll die. Understand?"

The elder Lantern didn't in the least, but despite that, he followed Superman away from the battle, while Stripe continued on towards the monster. During the last battle, Pat had felt a little ineffectual, seeing as all he had to fight with was his fists, but now, with Viking sword in hand...well, at least he could do a little more damage. He took a swipe at one of Neh Buh Lah's legs, and the monster let out a howl. It tried to grab him, but the man ducked out of the way, yelling at it, "What's the matter? Did you think just because we took a break that the fight was over?" He stood in place until it reached for him again, then Pat switched his grip on the sword and rammed it deep into the creature's palm. "_Fat chance, pal!_"

Neh Buh Lah screamed in pain, flinging its hand back in an effort to get way from its attacker, but Stripe held fast to the blade impaled in its ebony flesh and let the monster carry him up into the air. It tried to make a fist and crush him, but to no avail: Pat kept wrenching the blade about in the wound, cutting more and more as ichor spewed forth. Shining Knight soon flew to his friend's side, hacking away with his own sword until the two men succeeded in lopping off the monster's hand -- it turned to ash the moment it left the body, leaving nothing behind, and Sir Justin had to grab hold of Pat's striped shirt before he fell to his death.

"Perhaps my mind is slipping in the heat of battle," Justin said as he pulled Stripe onto the horse, "but I do not recall thee carrying a sword before."

Pat grinned. "It's a long story. After you hear it, you'll probably wish you'd been there yourself."

Firebrand flew over to join them, but before she could get there, the stump where Neh Buh Lah's hand was suddenly began to glow, and a new hand made of pure energy sprung forth, lightning shooting from its fingertips and straight at them. Shining Knight tried to steer his mount away, but Winged Victory took the blast dead-on and fell right out of the air, taking its riders with it. "Justin!" Danette cried out, watching in horror as the two men crashed to the ground. She almost followed after them, but then she heard a noise rather like a chuckle come from behind her. "You think this is _funny_?" she said, turning towards Neh Buh Lah. "My brother died because of you...did you think _that_ was funny, too?" The fiery aura around her grew until it became a white-hot blaze too bright to look at, then she let it loose in one massive blast straight into Neh Buh Lah's face.

The creature howled again and raised its new hand, but it was too blind to see where it was aiming. Lightning lashed out wildly across the cemetery, racing towards the heroes gathered around Doctor Fate. Flash and Superman had broke cover to make sure the fallen Soldiers were all right, but Star-Spangled Kid was still beside the mystic, too focused on trying to break Fate free to notice the danger coming his way. Lucky for him, Alan wasn't so preoccupied: he threw up an emerald barrier, and the lightning crackled fiercely against it as Lantern did his best to hold it back. He could feel the stress racing all the way up his arm, all the while the voices whispered to him, and he soon understood why Superman had been so insistent earlier. The voices made him feel like there were things crawling underneath his skin, swimming though his veins, coming up his throat. Alan tried to shake it off, tell himself that it wasn't real, but the pain began to eat away at his concentration to the point that cracks began to appear in the barrier, and every effort he made to shore it up just made the voices grow louder. Then the barrier shattered...only to be replaced by a second one.

"Looks like we came back just in time," Hal Jordan said, flying to Alan's side as his ring took up the defense. "How long has this been going on?"

"Don't know, I just got here myself," Alan replied, reconstructing his own barrier over the younger Lantern's. "Watch out, this thing likes to climb inside your head."

"I know, I can already hear it." He pressed the heel of his left hand to his forehead. "The ring's blocking some of it, but I don't know for how long."

"Just try and hang in there, son. If you slip, you won't have time to recover."

Meanwhile, Superman and Flash were helping Stripe and Shining Knight back to their feet. The two men hadn't been gravely injured in their fall, but Winged Victory had suffered burns along its hide, making it too weak to fly at the moment. "This is getting ridiculous," Pat muttered as Sir Justin tended to his mount. "What the Hell do we have to do to this bastard to stop him?"

"Hopefully, Fate will be able to answer that soon," Jay replied. "In the meantime, you'll just have to keep throwing whatever you've got at it."

"A little help in that department would be nice." He gave Superman a sour look, saying, "Why'd you hold back Lantern? A few blasts from his power ring would be pretty useful right now."

The Man of Steel held up his hands. "You don't understand: it's useless for any of us to try and fight the creature. Only you and the other Soldiers can stand up to him."

"That's the biggest crock of..." Pat started to say, stepping towards Superman and making a fist, but Sir Justin cut in between them.

"He speaks the truth, Patrick," the knight said. "I have already witnessed two of their companions being wiped from existence on a mere whim from that monstrosity. For whatever reason, we can face the Nebula Man without harm befalling us, whilst they are vulnerable no matter what their strengths. Now, dost thou wish to stand about asking why, or dost thou wish to end this cursed battle before it lays any others low?"

Pat looked at the other two men -- one an old friend, the other a complete stranger -- and in both faces he saw the same exhausted expression, the same tension building behind their eyes, as if each of them was silently fighting for their very sanity. "Tell Fate to hurry up with that answer," Pat said, then retrieved the Viking sword from where he'd dropped it and headed back into battle, Shining Knight following behind as he coaxed Winged Victory into the air once more.

"If he's still alive, I will," Jay said under his breath.

* * *

Since the beginning of time, Order and Chaos have dwelled at opposite ends of the spectrum. They bring a balance to things, for one cannot exist without the other. But there are some places in the universe where _only_ one can exist safely, and one of those places is within the body that houses the spirit of Nabu, known to mortals as Doctor Fate. As a servant of the Lords of Order, Fate is free of even the tiniest trace of chaos -- virginal, one might say -- and must remain that way for his magicks to flow freely. So when Neh Buh Lah encased Fate within a thick shell of granite and flooded it with pure, unadulterated chaos, it was, for Fate, the spiritual equivalent of being gang-raped.

He fought, of course, but as the chaos wheedled its way deeper and deeper into him, on both the physical and metaphysical planes, his defenses weakened to the point where he was seconds from being swept away like Batman and Hawkman had been. But before Neh Buh Lah could wipe him out completely, Doctor Fate's prison was cracked wide open, and two pairs of hands reached in to pull the mystic out.

"I can't believe that actually worked," Crimson Avenger said as he and Star-Spangled Kid laid Fate on the ground -- after arriving with Hal Jordan, he'd run over to help Sylvester with his task. "It was solid rock, but it just gave way beneath our hands."

"I don't get it either, but I'm not going to question it." The Kid began to check over the mystic, trying to tell if he was still alive, when Fate's body suddenly convulsed, and black smoke began to pour out from beneath his helmet and through the eyeholes. The tendrils curled in the air, thickening until they resembled snakes with massive fangs, which then lashed out at the two Soldiers.

Sylvester was quickly entangled, but Lee managed to remain free long enough to reach into his coat and pull out an oddly-shaped pistol. "Hold your breath!" he yelled, and pulled the trigger, encompassing both them and their attackers in a crimson mist. The snake-things let out a shriek, then their smoky bodies dissipated along with the mist.

"You still carry that thing?" Sylvester said, coughing.

"Comes in handy sometimes." He slipped the pistol back into his coat. "I figured if they were made of smoke, getting mixed in with the gas might disrupt their forms."

A blinding light suddenly exploded nearby, and the two of them readied for another attack. Then the light faded, revealing a pair of elderly men, one of whom was dressed in turn-of-the-century clothes and brandishing a rifle. "Holy Hannah...it's like lookin' at a couple of ghosts," Vigilante said as he walked up to his old teammates. "Glad to see the years were kinder to y'all than they was to me."

Crimson found his voice first, choking out, "_Greg?!?_ But you...you're..."

"Damn glad to be home," the cowboy finished for him, grinning. "Reckon maybe I took the longer way back compared to y'all, but that ain't important right now." He slipped the knapsack off his shoulder and tossed it at Speed, saying, "Watch that for me, will you, cousin? I want to go have a word with Mister Ugly over there." With that, Vig started running towards the Nebula Man, letting out a whoop and a holler.

"Yeah, that's Greg, alright," Star-Spangled Kid said.

Speed knelt down next to Doctor Fate. "What happened to him? Is he okay?"

Crimson joined him, saying, "We're not sure. The Nebula Man got a hold of him, and we just managed to get him loose."

He groped at Fate's neck, then said, "He's got a pulse, and it looks like he's breathing, so hopefully that means he's not down for the count." Speed then looked up as he saw Flash and Superman approach at a slow walk, each of them in obvious pain.

"Can't fight it anymore...too much," Jay managed to get out. "It's everywhere...inside me...I..." The man's legs suddenly buckled, and he pitched forward with a sharp cry. Superman tried to reach out for him, but Jay dissolved into stardust before he could even lift his arm. A look of pure anguish crossed the Kryptonian's face, then he cried out as well, the sound still echoing as the remains of both him and the Flash went swirling away.

Speed's gaze went from the spot where the two heroes once stood, then to Lee and Sylvester. He wanted to ask them about what just happened, but his mind was slowly filling with noise, like an endless cycle of voices bouncing around his skull, making it hard to think, to speak, to breathe...

"Speed? Are you...oh God, Speed!" Crimson caught his friend as Speed pitched backward, his hands scrabbling at the sides of his head. "What's wrong with him?"

"The same thing that's wrong with all of us," Alan said, leaving Hal's side. "It's the Nebula Man: he's tearing us apart from the inside out, just by...b-by..." He grunted and clutched at his own head. "God, the voices...it never stops..."

"What voices? I don't hear a damn thing," Crimson said.

"That's because we _can't_, apparently," Sylvester answered. "I don't know exactly why, but there's something...different about us and the other Soldiers. I mean, look at what you and I did!" He gestured to the now-empty shell that had trapped Doctor Fate. "It's obvious that we've got something going in our favor that everybody else here seems to be lacking."

Alan regained his composure and said, "Fate told us the Seven Soldiers are the only ones that can stop this creature. I thought we could at least assist you, but it's obvious now that we really are helpless in the face of this thing." He started to wrap an arm around Speed, saying to Lee, "Don't worry, I'll take care of him. You and Sylvester have to get out there and help your teammates, before it's too late for the rest of us."

Crimson hesitated, then let the Green Lantern take up the burden. He drew his Colts as he and Star-Spangled Kid then began to race off to face their enemy, but stopped when they heard a pair of screams behind them. They looked to see two fading swirls of stardust where Alan Scott and Speed Saunders had been. "That monster's gonna pay, simple as that," Lee said quietly. Sylvester nodded, and they continued on their way.

Their compatriots were still deeply engaged in battle, each one doing their best to bring the Nebula Man down. The monster had no intentions of falling easily, however: in addition to the lightning strikes, it had somehow whipped up a maelstrom around itself, buffeting the airborne Firebrand and Shining Knight about, while those on the ground struggled to keep their footing.

"Nice of y'all to finally chip in!" Vigilante shouted at Lee and Sylvester as they pushed their way through the howling wind. "I don't know 'bout you fellas, but this certainly ain't the day I was expectin' to have when I woke up this mornin'!" He brought his rifle up and fired a few more shots in the Nebula Man's direction.

"You guys manage to find a way to bring this bastard down yet?" Lee asked.

"Kind of a silly question, don't you think?" Stripe said, holding his shield high as the wind threw bits of debris their way.

"But there's got to be something we're missing!" his young partner replied. "We're still standing after nearly everyone else has fallen...even in the middle of _this_! So why us? What makes us so special?"

"Maybe we're just too stupid to give up!" As the words left Pat's mouth, there was a burst of light not far behind them, through which they saw a horse carrying two riders gallop. Once the maelstrom got hold of the horse, though, both the animal and its riders were dashed to the ground -- at the same moment, Neh Buh Lah let out a shriek of fury. Ignoring their enemy's outburst, the four men made their way over to where the portal had opened. The horse was quickly vanishing into stardust, while Wildcat and Spider were laying sprawled out on the ground.

"What the Hell's going on? It's like we got sucked into a damn hurricane!" Spider said as Crimson pulled him to his feet. "Are we still in Philadelphia?"

"Same place, same problem!" Crimson answered, then looked over at Stripe, who was leaning over Wildcat. "Is he okay?"

"He's out cold. Must've whacked his head when..." Stripe's assessment was cut short when Ted's hand suddenly wrapped around his windpipe. The man then sat up, his eyes shining white as he growled like his namesake. Stripe tried to pry Ted's fingers loose with one hand, while striking him in the face with the other. It had no effect. Spider, Crimson, and Star-Spangled Kid joined in the struggle as well, finally managing to free Stripe, though that just served to apparently anger Wildcat even more. He lashed out at all four of them, eventually pinning Crimson to the ground and snapping at him with his teeth, nearly taking a bite out his old friend.

Then Vigilante came up and smashed Wildcat in the head with the butt of his rifle. It didn't stop him, but it did make him turn his attention on the cowboy instead. Spittle dripping from his bared teeth, Wildcat leapt at Vig, who flipped the rifle around without hesitation and blasted the man in the chest. He dropped immediately, and seconds later, the stardust that had been his body was swept up by the maelstrom. The others stared in disbelief at Vigilante, wondering how the man they'd once known could do such a thing. As if he'd read the question on their faces, Vig looked at them and said, "Ain't the first time I've had a good friend go loco on me."

Having seen from above what happened, Shining Knight and Firebrand flew down to join them. "This madness seems to have no end, no matter what we throw at the creature," Sir Justin said. "Is this our fate? To hold the line here for all eternity?"

"Are you saying you want to give up?" Crimson asked.

"To do so would be to break my vows as a knight," he replied, bristling at the very notion. "But after watching so many of our compatriots fall, I am beginning to grow weary of this battle."

"Then let's finish this, once and for all." Spider nocked an arrow, then threw a glare at the Nebula Man and shouted, "For victory!"

"For victory!" the others answered, and as one they began to race forward, weapons at the ready...until a golden light suddenly swept the Seven Soldiers from the battlefield. Neh Buh Lah hissed and looked about the cemetery, expecting some new sort of trickery, then it spotted a man wrapped in a halo of green slowly flying towards it, his face pale and sweat-slick

"Hi there," he said huskily. "My name's Hal, and I'll be your diversion for today." With that, he brought up his ring hand and let loose with every ounce of energy he had remaining within. Neh Buh Lah was engulfed by an emerald firestorm, blinding it, but that didn't stop it from lashing out at Hal with just as much force. It opened its mouth and spewed forth a geyser of pure chaos energy in Hal's direction, which quickly swept over the man and smothered both him and his ring. When the chaos energy dissipated, there was nothing left but a faint trail of stardust, and the monster let out a roar of triumph. All of its opposition was gone, clearing the way for it to fully consume the world.

Praise Neh Buh Lah.

* * *

"What the Hell is the point of this?" Spider yelled at Doctor Fate. "We're in the middle of a huge fight, and you just decide to yank us out of it for no good reason?"

**There is a very good reason, Thomas Hallaway,** Fate said. He was on his feet once more, but it was obvious from the hint of exhaustion in his voice that Neh Buh Lah's attack earlier had taken a lot out of him. **The time has come for the Seven Soldiers of Victory to fulfill their true destiny.**

"What are you talking about?" Stripe asked. "What destiny? And where the heck are we?" He gestured to the dimly-glowing dome that encapsulated himself and the rest of the Soldiers, who had materialized in front of the mystic.

**We are still within the boundaries of Christ Church Burial Ground, though I have masked our presence from Neh Buh Lah. It was not an easy task, but the Green Lantern distracted it long enough for me to complete the spell.**

"But I thought the other heroes couldn't..." Crimson started to say, then let the sentence trail off. "He's gone now too, isn't he?"

Fate nodded gravely. **He sacrificed himself so that I could prepare you to deliver the final blow. I had hoped that he would last longer, however. Now we must hurry, before Neh Buh Lah's power grows beyond our control.**

"Then speak plainly to us, mage, not in riddles," Shining Knight said. "Give us the knowledge we need to defeat this monster!"

**It was already given to you, long ago. Ever since that night in 1941, when you first came across the terror that Neh Buh Lah could bring, each of you has been granted the power to destroy the creature. The power -- and the knowledge of how to use it -- should have manifested fully when you faced the creature in all its glory in 1948...but it seems that the power somehow became dormant in the interim.**

The Soldiers looked at one another as they tried to comprehend what they'd been told. Star-Spangled Kid was the first to grasp the full meaning, saying to Fate, "That's what has been keeping us safe, hasn't it? And why Lee and I could overcome the Nebula Man's magic when all those other guys couldn't...it wasn't just us, it was something in here." He tapped his fingers against his breastbone. "But why us? Just because we were there at that first ceremony?"

**You were chosen _before_ the ceremony, Sylvester Pemberton, and guided by the power within you to find it, though all of you thought you were seeking it out for other reasons. Seven warriors, their souls bound together by forces invisible, decreed by the Lords of Order to destroy an unholy evil. This has always been your destiny, even though none of you were consciously aware of it.**

Firebrand stared at him. "You mean, the only reason we remained together was..." She looked immediately to her husband, who dismounted and came to her side. The two of them wrapped their arms around each other, neither of them wanting to dwell on the implications of what Fate was saying.

"So now that we _are_ aware," Vigilante asked, "what damn good does it do us?"

**Now that destiny must be fulfilled.** Fate brought up his hands, which had begun to glow. **Though Neh Buh Lah has weakened me greatly, I believe I still have enough strength to awaken the power residing within each of you. Once that happens, you shall be transformed, and will be able to rip Neh Buh Lah asunder with ease, thus ending the threat upon this plane.**

"And what happens to us _after_ we've done that?" Crimson asked. Fate didn't answer him, so he pressed on, saying, "You said this power will transform us...but we won't be changing back into our old selves once we're done, will we? To fight something this powerful, we're going to have to sacrifice everything that we are."

**Your physical selves will be lost, yes,** Fate finally replied, **but not your souls. Those will join with the other warriors who have fought Neh Buh Lah in the past, and become part of the force that abides until the time comes to fight again.**

"That...that's no different than what we were facing before," Stripe said, his tone suggesting that he was trying to convince himself more than the others. "We thought we were going to die before, but we went ahead anyways. If we have to do it again, then..."

"No, we don't." Crimson strode up to Fate and stared hard into the eye-slits of his golden helm. "You said you could wake up whatever's been laying inside us...so does that mean you can _remove_ it as well?"

**That power cannot act on its own, Lee Travis. It requires a host.**

"Then give it one: me. Just take it out of them and pour it all into me."

Vigilante shook his head, saying, "You don't have to play the martyr, Lee, we're all willing to do it." He looked to the others. "Aren't we?"

"But like Pat said, we've already done it once before. Luckily, it didn't prove to be the end: we got sidetracked for a while, but we didn't die. Now we're in the same boat once more...but there's no way I'm going to let you guys throw away your lives twice, not when my own life is almost over." Crimson turned to look at his friends and said, "I didn't want to tell you this, but...I'm already dying. Cancer. I've known for a while, and I kept it to myself because I didn't want any pity. It was a selfish thing to do, and I..." He stopped talking for a moment, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "If we can do this with just one of us dying, let it be me. Let me go down fighting."

Silence fell amongst them, even as they knew the world outside the protective dome was being destroyed. Then Fate said, **It can be done...but this power is meant to be held by seven people, not one. It will take all that I have left to keep your soul from tearing apart.**

"After what this cancer's done to me, I think I can deal with a little more pain."

**That remains to be seen.** He gestured to the others, saying, **Gather around us and link hands.** They did so, each of them pausing a moment in front of Crimson to say goodbye...not with words, for there were none that could sum up the feeling of the moment, but with a touch on the shoulder, a brief clasping of hands, a kiss on the cheek.

Once they had all fallen into place around him, Lee looked at each one in turn, saying, "I don't know what's going to happen to our little group after this is over, but I want you to remember something: It doesn't matter that we were brought together because of some magic mumbo-jumbo...what matters is we _stayed_ together because of friendship and loyalty. That's not something you can just conjure up, that's gotta come from your heart, and I'm glad...I'm _proud _to have had that with you guys." He could feel tears coming, but he held them back as he said to Fate, "Okay, let's get this over with."

Without a word, Fate stepped behind him, laying one hand on the base of Lee's neck and the other on the center of his back. Suddenly, Lee could feel a churning sensation inside his chest, squeezing his heart. His body stiffened, his face contorting from pain as the others looked on, not knowing what was happening. Then they began to feel it too, some of them crying out as it felt like something was trying to break through their ribcage. Despite that, they never let go of each other's hands, their grips bearing down until their knuckles turned white.

Then, finally, came the release: ribbons of gleaming golden light burst forth from the chests of the six Soldiers, the ends pulsing and twisting in the air above Lee's head. Somehow, he managed to turn his face up to them, and he saw that each one seemed to bear a different thread of color at its core. Green, blue, yellow, orange, indigo, violet...all the colors of the rainbow. _Except red_, he thought. _Except crimson._ He realized then that each of those threads was a tiny piece of his friends' souls, a part of them forever bound to the power they'd each harbored within them for so long. _And now a part of them will be within me....forever._ A smile played across his pained features as he watched the ribbons braid around each other, then come slamming down into his chest. Moments later, the ends of the ribbons still attached to the other Soldiers broke off, and as one, they collapsed to the ground. Their hands were still linked, however, and none of them made any move to let go just yet.

"Is it over?" Spider asked weakly, his face mashed into the ground. When no one answered, he lifted his head and was soon transfixed by the same sight as the others. Lee was standing there, his mouth opened as if to scream, but nothing came out but light, endless light, boiling out of his mouth and his eyes and every pore in his body. Fate was still behind him, but the mystic's knees were buckling as he focused all his energy on keeping the Crimson Avenger in one piece. Then it reached the point where Fate had nothing left to give, and he collapsed, his body turning to stardust just as all the other heroes had done. Unfortunately, the dome went with him, and the Soldiers found themselves in the middle of a wasteland: the cemetery was gone, as was most of the city surrounding it, leaving only barren, charred earth. In the midst of this stood Neh Buh Lah, laughing as great clouds of stardust -- the end result of its devastation -- swirled around it. It was so wrapped up in its revelry that it didn't even notice their return.

Suddenly, the light coming from Lee seemed to explode outward. They all turned their heads, futile as the gesture was, and when they looked back again, Lee Travis was gone, his costume laying in a pile...while something new hovered in the air above them. It was crimson in color, and had a human shape, but was ghostly, its outline shifting like mist. A black void lay in the center of its chest, with a golden light pouring out along the edge of it like a sun's corona. The same light poured out of its eyes, which were the only feature to be seen on its face. It turned those inhuman eyes downward to look at the Soldiers, who stared up at it with a mixture of awe and terror.

Shining Knight somehow managed to find his voice. "Remember thy task, my friend," he said. "Go now...for victory."

Its gaze lingered a moment longer, as if considering the words, then the figure ascended, heading straight for Nebula Man. The monster saw it approach and let out a roar, knowing instinctively what was this newcomer was. It brought up its hand and filled the air between them with lightning, but the crimson figure raised its own hands and dispersed the lightning like a man parting a curtain. The Nebula Man then let go with wave after wave of chaos energy, but again, it had no effect. Far below them, the Soldiers watched in amazement as the figure that had been Lee Travis brushed all of the monster's attacks aside with ease. Then they saw a new wonder as Neh Buh Lah, who had shrugged off so many of their blows with barely any damage, began to stagger, the starry marks upon it dimming so much that they started to disappear. It was expelling all of its energy just to keep its foe at arm's length...and the crimson figure had actually made no offensive move yet. When it finally did, it was a sight to behold: the crimson figure flew in close to the Nebula Man, throwing its arms wide, and the corona around the void in its chest became brighter, bursting outward until the creature before it was bathed in blinding golden light. Shrieking like a banshee, the Nebula Man tried to back away, but it was too late, its body was breaking apart wherever the light touched it. Tendrils of black rippled off the monster, swirling around in the air for a moment before being absorbed into the void at the center of the corona. Soon, Neh Buh Lah had lost so much mass that seven dark, misshapen gremlins tumbled out of the sky to land in the cemetery below -- they tried to scamper away as the crimson figure descended, but they seemed too weak to do more than crawl. It regarded these pitiful, hissing things for a moment, then with a wave of its hand, it drew them into the void as well, laying its hands over its chest afterward as if to hold them in.

A chill seemed to fall over the world for a moment as the crimson figure hovered above the cemetery, its blinding gaze sweeping over the devastated landscape. Then it saw the remaining Soldiers kneeling on the ground, their hands still linked as they stared at what had once been their friend. Its head inclined towards them slightly, as if giving them a nod, then the figure threw its arms wide once more. This time, however, the light spread out in every direction, engulfing first the cemetery, then the wasted city around it, and even reaching up into the blackened sky. Everything was awash in brilliance for what seemed like an eternity, then like mist stirred by a gentle breeze, it began to fade. The Soldiers let go of each other finally, rubbing their eyes in an effort to get rid of the spots floating in front of them. "Are we all still in one piece?" Stripe asked.

"And then some," Star-Spangled Kid replied. "Everybody else see what I see?"

The rest of the Soldiers looked around them and were knocked speechless. Not only was Christ Church Burial Ground fully intact, with every headstone and handful of earth restored, but they could also see the city standing beyond it once more, not one building out of place, the sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky. It was as if the battle had never occurred. And standing in the middle of the cemetery, where the transformed spirit of Lee Travis had been only moments before, were all the heroes who'd been swept away by Neh Buh Lah -- they looked rather dazed, but every single one was accounted for. There also appeared to be some civilians mixed in, looking around just as confused as everyone else.

"What the heck's going on?" a woman asked as she staggered over to Speed Saunders. "My boyfriend and I were at the Liberty Bar, and I felt something grab me..." She then caught sight of the Soldiers walking towards them. "Who are those guys?"

"An old team from the 1940s called the Law's Legionnaires," Speed told her. "Never really did much...except save the world twice over." A grin split his face as he and the members of the Justice Society met them halfway, laughing and clapping the Soldiers on the back -- the fight was over, and now the real joy of the moment, of having friends believed long dead returned to them, swept over all. The Justice Leaguers stayed back a respectful distance, until those they'd personally rescued beckoned them over...though even then, one member was hesitant.

"Where's Crimson Avenger?" Hal Jordan asked, looking around.

**He is gone from this plane of existence,** Doctor Fate answered. **Lee Travis gave his life for the good of his teammates, and for the world.**

Firebrand asked, "So there's no way for him to come back?"

**Not as you knew him,** was all the mystic would say.

In a somber tone, Superman said, "At least it's over now. The Soldiers are back home, Neh Buh Lah is gone...we accomplished everything we had to do."

**Not quite.** Fate looked at the remaining Soldiers. **There is still one small task that must be completed.**

* * *

Daniel Leong drifted along in an involuntary drowse. A nurse had come in not long after Doctor Fate had carried off Speed and the others, and she'd misinterpreted his rapid heartbeat and anxious expression as distress over the strange situation outside. Despite his protests, she'd administered a sedative to his I.V. line in an effort to calm him, and though he'd struggled long and hard to shake it off, the drugs had finally taken effect, and the world slipped away from him. Though he didn't think so at the time, his drugged state was to his advantage: when Neh Buh Lah's influence began to creep over the hospital, his mind wasn't enveloped by the endless gibbering voices that everyone else experienced. Instead, it folded into his dreams, twisting them around until they became a surreal nightmare.

He dreamed he was a little boy again, running down a maze of unfamiliar corridors in terror as a black, misshapen _thing_ shambled after him -- he didn't know what was chasing him, but he knew that it would kill him if he stopped moving. He also knew (though he didn't know _how_ he knew) that this thing had killed Greg without any hesitation, and that scared Daniel worst of all. He was alone in this place, so alone for so long, and he could feel the thing's breath on his neck, stinking of rot and decay, the stench of the grave. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and the muscles in his legs were tearing themselves apart from the strain, until he reached the point where he just couldn't go on and he collapsed on the ground. He curled into a ball, sobbing, arms laced over his head, as the thing loomed over him, its hungry maw opening wide...

Then the corridor filled with a crimson mist, making the thing stagger back with a shriek. Daniel stared in disbelief as the mist swirled in the air between him and the monster until it took the form of a man, which lashed out at the black thing until it vanished. The threat gone, the man turned to Daniel, who thought he recognized the face shrouded in mist. "Lee? Is that you?"

"You can call me Crimson," the man replied...though Daniel wasn't sure if the man actually spoke aloud or if the words just appeared in his head. The man then reached down and scooped the boy up, the mist covering both of them as they moved upwards, away from this nightmare maze, and Daniel could feel the weight of age return to his body, the young boy becoming an old man once more as he ascended back to the real world...where he was still alone.

No, that wasn't true, he wasn't alone. He had a family, one that he'd kept in the dark for too long. For sixty years, he'd stayed silent about a part of his life that had meant so much to him -- he thought he was protecting them, but all he succeeded in doing was making the grief in his heart that much heavier. _But I'm not going to stay silent any more_, he thought. _I'm going to tell Victor everything, no matter how much it hurts me to speak the words. He's my son, he should know..._

As Daniel slowly came back to consciousness, he felt a hand brush the hair away from his brow. "Victor..." he said groggily, then opened his eyes. The room was so bright he couldn't see anything clearly. Then he realized the curtains had been drawn away from the window, letting sunlight flood the room -- the darkness that had blocked out the sky was long gone -- and as his eyes adjusted, he could see people standing around the bed...people that he never thought he'd get to see again. His breath seemed to stop as he stared at the Soldiers, looking as if they'd only left him moments ago. "Still dreaming," he managed to say. "Can't...you can't be..."

"I know how you feel, son," said a voice he hadn't heard in sixty years, outside of scratchy recordings. He looked beside him to see a man in his mid-fifties, a cowboy hat cocked back on his graying head and a familiar smile spreading across his face. Daniel tried to say something, but all the words he wanted to get out were caught in his throat, and all he could do was let the tears come as the man folded his arms around him.

"Good soldier," Greg Saunders told him. "Always have been."

**EPILOGUE**

It was a memorial service unlike any that had ever been held at Christ Church Burial Ground. News trucks clogged the streets all around the cemetery as reporters and photographers jockeyed for the best position to take in the spectacle, and superheroes of all sorts were gathered within the iron gates to pay their respects. All of this for a man that many living in 2008 had never heard of, but whose final act of bravery would not be soon forgotten. The bright colors that made up the heroes' costumes clashed a bit with the somber setting, and perhaps that was why seven of them -- six men and one woman -- chose to dress in darker attire more suiting the occasion.

"Geez, would you look at all these guys?" Pat Dugan said as he and the remaining Soldiers made their way down the cemetery's main path. "I think there's more masked men here than we had in the entire All-Star Squadron."

"Yeah, and some of them are so damn _young_." Tom Hallaway nodded towards a girl dressed in varyng shades of brown, her blonde hair cut in a short bob. "Bet you a dollar she isn't even out of school yet...and I don't know _what_ to think about that green-skinned boy she was talking to a second ago."

"They're with the Teen Titans," Daniel Leong told him as Greg Saunders pushed him along -- his broken bones were healing nicely, but the hospital advised that he remain in a wheelchair for the duration of the ceremony. "Don't let those fresh faces fool you, though. They're plenty tough."

"Besides," Sylvester Pemberton said, "they don't seem much younger than me."

"Hate to tell you this, Kid," Pat said to his partner, "but you're technically old enough to be that girl's grandfather."

"That's going to be the hardest thing to adjust to, I think: all that time disappearing the blink of an eye." Danette Reilly-Arthur reached over to take her husband's hand as they walked. "I keep expecting to wake up back in 1948 again."

Justin Arthur nodded knowingly. "'Tis not a situation that I looked forward to repeating. I remember many a restless night, uneasy in heart and mind, after I had first been revived in thy century. I suppose I should be grateful that I only lost sixty years this time instead of fourteen hundred." He gave Danette's hand a gentle squeeze. "And that I shall not be alone upon those restless nights."

"I went through the same thing for a while when I landed in 1875," Greg added. "Took some time, but I eventually settled in. Met a lot of good folks, too." A wistful smile crossed his face. "I ain't denyin' that it's great to be home, but I reckon I'm gonna miss that other life."

Tom looked over at him, saying, "If it makes you feel any better, you can have that horse I brought back with me." That got a good chuckle out of everyone, especially when Greg answered back, "Sold American!"

The laughter was gone when they reached their destination: a new mausoleum erected at the far end of the cemetery. It wasn't very large, and relatively free of decoration, the only thing of note being an inscription chiseled on the white marble door:

_**While tyrants breathe,**_

_**and men conspire against their fellows,**_

_**and greed stalks unleashed...**_

_**this good right arm shall never falter,**_

_**nor this good sword be sheathed.**_

"I still think it's kind of a morbid idea," Pat muttered. "I'm not saying that Lee doesn't deserve a memorial...but did we really need to make one big enough to hold all seven of us?"

"You mean eight," Greg said, and placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Stuff's a full-fledged Soldier now, no doubt about it."

"Either way, it's creepy. I don't plan on dying any time soon, and I definitely don't like knowing that there's a slot waiting for me in this little building."

"I just wish that there was something more of Lee we could have put in here besides his uniform." Danette looked at the others. "His guns still haven't turned up?"

Sylvester shook his head. "Not a trace...and I know he had them when we rushed out to the battle." They'd found his old gas gun within the folds of his costume, but the twin Colt automatic pistols that Lee Travis always carried had vanished along with his body. The young man sighed, then said, "Still can't believe he's gone."

"He fought valiantly to the end, as was his nature." Justin paused, then said, "The question remains, however: Is this the end for us? Have the Law's Legionnaires truly fought their last battle?"

"Well, it isn't like there's not enough masked men around to fill the gap," Tom said, gesturing to the heroes gathered around. "And now that our secret identities are gonna be splashed across every newspaper from here to Timbuktu..."

"Like the average joe is gonna know who Tom Hallaway is," Greg scoffed. "Personally, I think it's time to hang up my guns. The rest of y'all have still got quite a few good years ahead of you, but me...I've done twenty years of hard ridin', and I'm lookin' forward to just as many years of sittin' on my butt. 'Sides, Stuff's told me that he saved most of the residuals from all them albums and movies I made -- they've just been collectin' interest in the bank all these years, so I've got a nice little retirement fund already set up for me." He cocked an eyebrow. "That don't mean I ain't gonna come a-runnin' if you call on me. Just remember that this old man don't run so fast no more."

"I'm staying in it," Sylvester said. "I won't be jumping in right away, not until I've got a new converter belt..."

"Don't worry," Pat interjected. "With some of this new technology I've been hearing about, I can set both of us up with something pretty sharp."

"Okay, so that's covered," he continued, "but I also want to check out what's happened to my father's company while I've been gone. It doesn't matter how long I've been missing, I still have every right to it...and I plan on claiming every piece that's left."

"Personally, I wouldn't mind taking a little hiatus," Danette said, looking at her husband. "I know it'd be impossible to keep you on the sidelines forever, but if you could hold off putting your armor back on for a while, just long enough for a second honeymoon, maybe?"

"I suppose thou could talk me into such an arrangement," Justin replied with a sigh, though he was smiling all the while. "And what of thee, Thomas? Dost thou truly believe there is no place for us in this new world?"

"I don't know. I've got to...I want to get some other things squared away first. After that..." He shrugged.

"Geez, if you're gonna be like that, maybe we should give Stuff your bow and arrows," Pat quipped. "I think a seventy-five-year-old man can shoot better than you."

"Blow it out your ass," Tom grumbled, then said, "Fine, put me on the reserve list like Greg. If you call, I'll come...but until then, I've got business to attend to."

"So I guess it's just like the old days," Sylvester said. "We each have separate paths to follow, but when times get tough..."

"We'll stand together," Pat finished for him, "and we'll _stay_ together, no matter what. Just like Lee said."

"That we shall," Justin said. "With bonds forged not of magic, but of family."

"Amen to that," Daniel answered quietly, his eyes going over to Alan Scott, who was dressed in costume like the rest of the Golden Age heroes present. He and Speed Saunders were ushering through the crowd a small group of people: Daniel's son Victor, his wife, and their teenage son Danny.

"Sorry we're late," Speed called over to the Soldiers. "Traffic is just ridiculous, so I had to call in a friend to fly us over this mess." He jerked a thumb at Alan.

"My God, I can't believe this," Victor said, staring in wide-eyed wonder at all the heroes on the grounds. "All this time, Dad, you...you..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His wife appeared to be just as flabbergasted, and held onto Victor's hand tightly, as if afraid of being swept away.

Danny seemed to be the only family member unaffected by the spectacle, and walked right up to the Soldiers...who in turn were struck by how much the teenager looked like his namesake at the same age. "So, is it true?" he asked them. "Was my Grandpa Dan really a superhero when he was a kid?"

Justin was the first to respond. "Nay, child, he was no mere superhero. He was a Soldier of Victory, a title carried proudly by only seven others before him...and a right that must be earned through deeds far greater than thou can imagine."

"Like what?" Danny pressed. "I wanna know."

"All in good time, child," the knight replied. "All in good time."

**THE END**


End file.
